New Photo - The 10 best albums of the 1990s: Our top pick for every year of the decade

From Lauryn Hill and Sinead O'Connor to Nirvana, U2, and the British reinvasion, we look back on EW's picks for best album of each year of the '90s. The 10 best

From Lauryn Hill and Sinead O'Connor to Nirvana, U2, and the British re-invasion, we look back on EW's picks for best album of each year of the '90s.

The 10 best albums of the 1990s: Our top pick for every year of the decade

From Lauryn Hill and Sinead O'Connor to Nirvana, U2, and the British re-invasion, we look back on EW's picks for best album of each year of the '90s.

Published on August 14, 2025 09:00AM EDT

1990: Sinead O'Connor — I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

Sinead O'Connor's 'I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got' album cover.

Her visible uneasiness — apparent every time she does anything in public other than sing — belies her album's title. But still, the record is a spiritual victory, full of wisdom wrested from audible pain. Musically, it moves from one surprise to another. There are yielding songs, angry songs, intensely quiet songs, and even one number that is almost frightening — joined together by the raw intimacy of O'Connor's sometimes surging, sometimes half-broken singing voice. *—Greg Sandow & David Browne*

1991: Nirvana — Nevermind

Nirvana's 'Nevermind' album cover.

What kind of world is it in which a bratty Seattle-area band can sign with a major label, go into the studio, and instead of playing the usual recycled Led Zeppelin riffs common to many Northwest rockers, pound out a hook-filled mix of alternative rock and metal? And stuff each song with lyrics about '20s-generation malaise and deranged loners? And wrap it in a gorgeous (if somewhat twisted) album cover depicting a completely adorable baby underwater, grasping at a dollar bill on a fishhook? And actually get the whole quirky, infectious shebang into the Billboard top five, selling over a million albums in a little over a month? A pretty good world, actually. *—David Browne*

1992: Sonic Youth — Dirty

Sonic Youth's 'Dirty' album cover.

Rock & roll — whatever that archaic phrase means in the '90s — simply doesn't get more vital and intense than this: seething anger over sexual discrimination and Republicanism, melancholy over the shooting death of a friend, sadness overfriendships gone astray, and fantasies sexual and otherwise, all set to layers of sonic blitz from our leading underground guitar band. Sonic Youth, who've been playing so-called alternative rock since long before it had a name, are still insolent brats. (In that photo tucked behind the package's see-through CD tray, just what are those people doing with those stuffed animals?) But *Dirty* reveals, finally, an unexpected and welcome depth and emotional range that broaden with each listening. Whether unleashing coiled-up guitars that literally sound like they're burning rubber, or settling back into billowy ripples of feedback, the band explores the connection between beauty and ugliness, as well as the crucial difference between hiding behind cynicism and actually blurting out one's emotions. Alternative rock grows up — or, at least, just enough to count. *—David Browne*

1993: U2 — Zooropa

U2's 'Zooropa' album cover.

You're bound to make a clanky, discordant racket when you're stumbling around in the dark and groping for a direction. And if those sounds were recorded for posterity, they might resemble this magnificent blip and grind through the heads of pop's most self-examining arena band. With Bono keeping his Cliffs of Dover yelp in check, *Zooropa* scales down U2's anthemic-apostles side. In its place are electronic grunts, mantras, and melodies that, on first listen, seem half-finished. Beneath the surface, though, those dark, bumpy songs dwell obsessively on the disconnection between people — and, in a large sense, on rock & roll's murky role in a year that saw classic rockers and grungesters alike providing the entertainment at inaugural balls. Where does the concept of four men with guitars fit in? And should they even bother? U2 doesn't answer those questions, but their attempt to make sense of their place in pop and the world at large is downright heroic. *—David Browne*

1994: Beck — Mellow Gold

Beck's 'Mellow Gold' album cover.

From Elvis to Kurt Cobain, the greatest rockers have used music to reinvent themselves. Rock empowers them, and with it, they transcend their own roughshod upbringings and inspire us along the way — if they can beat the odds, maybe we can too. L.A. smart-ass Beck isn't in their league, at least not yet, but that spirit exists in him as well. Beck's '90s twist is that he becomes a different person on every song, from sweet-and-naive folkie to sardonic white rapper to gnarled scuzz rocker. Sometimes he does it all within the same tune, as on his cheeky, impossibly hooky hit "Loser." The most sonically inventive album of the year, *Mellow Gold *(one of three albums he released in 1994!) perfectly captures the manic, channel-surfing essence of contemporary pop. And his attitude — ambivalent toward rock, toward fame, toward intimacy, toward his own McJob — is entirely '90s too. I still don't know what "get crazy with the Cheese Whiz" means, and I don't care. *—David Browne*

1995: Joan Osborne — Relish

Joan Osborne's 'Relish' album cover.

With Osborne, many easy comparisons come to mind: Sheryl Crow with soul, Bonnie Raitt with longing in more than just her heart. Yet none of those analogies do justice to this Kentucky-born hip-shaker's remarkable debut. First, there is the voice: rich with a brick-oven smokiness, powerful yet never show-offy, a deeply spiritual and sexual instrument that can leap from an after-glow purr to a head-thrown-back wail. The music that accompanies her is just as stick-to-the-ribs earthy, dipped in roadhouse soul, folkish hymns, barroom rock, and blues, without sounding like House of Blues nostalgia. The only things shaky about *Relish* are the junkies, prostitutes, suicidal depressives, and sinners who populate Osborne's songs. But one listen to her comforting, uplifting voice and you know they'll eventually be okay too. *—David Browne***

1996: Various British artists

1996: Oasis — What's the Story Morning Glory?

Oasis' '(What's the Story) Morning Glory?' album cover.

Maybe it was the hollowness of so much American alternative rock and rap; maybe it was something in the tea. But for the first time since Boy George sprang for eyeliner and a dress, the British pop scene came astonishingly alive in the past year. England's newest hitmakers, led by Oasis and Pulp, are schooled in U.K. rock history, yet there's nothing quaint about the sardonic fop rock of Pulp's *Different Class* or the brawny song-craft of Oasis' late-1995 *(What's the Story)Morning Glory?* Carousing dandies like Pulp's Jarvis Cocker and Oasis' Liam Gallagher also know that rock stars should be larger than life; their Union Jerk high jinks were refreshing after years of fame-shy American alt-rockers. The British Reinvasion didn't end there, either, as proven by trip-hop, drums-and-bass, jungle, or whatever term the British press coined this week for all those heady, space-age samba club beats. The intoxicating soundtrack to *Trainspotting* features snippets of these styles. But for a larger serving of the music that will be heard in cars crossing that bridge to the 21st century, dive into the work of DJ-mixers like L.T.J. Bukem, Tricky, and Underworld, whose *Second Toughest in the Infants* fused throbbing techno with heavenly pop and contemplative singing. Together, this consortium of musicians and remixers has created music whose very chaos — gorgeous synthesizer washes atop sandpaper-scratch rhythms — evokes the everyday clatter that surrounds us. London's calling, and once again, we're more than happy to take the call. *—David Browne*

1997: Radiohead — OK Computer

Radiohead's 'OK Computer' album cover.

Contemplating the world around him through squinty eyes, Thom Yorke, lead singer and songwriter of Radiohead, would rather tune himself out. In his songs, all he sees are cynical politicians and excessively regimented lifestyles, and he'd prefer to wait for aliens to scoop him up for an intergalactic ride. Weary of the draining intensity of modern life, Yorke is in search of "no alarms and no surprises," as he sings in one of his cryptic lyrics, and he's looking for a higher ground, a fresh start. On Radiohead's most ambitious album, he's found it. When we first heard from them some four years ago, Radiohead were egregious grunge clones — and from England at that. Three albums on, they've come into their own on this subtly resplendent opus. Wafting, swelling, and subsiding in billowy bursts, the songs aren't rock or electronica, but a celestial place somewhere in between. As each song segues gracefully into the next, *OK Computer* becomes a cohesive album — remember those? — with Yorke's frail sigh, which glides to a falsetto before inevitably crashing down, providing the glue. No other piece of music this year so eloquently captured fin de siècle wariness, the gnawing sense that a new, scary, and potentially enlightening world may be only two years away. Until the UFOs arrive, the sullen grandeur of *OK Computer* will have to suffice for Yorke, and the rest of us, too. *—David Browne*

1998: Lauryn Hill — The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

Lauryn Hill's 'The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill' album covrer.

While her cohorts in the Fugees made do with recycling other people's hits, Lauryn Hill opted for a different and far loftier goal: to create one of the most forceful statements ever by a woman in pop. With *The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill*, most of which she wrote and produced herself, the 23-year-old accomplished exactly that. Hill is one stern puppy, using her songs to lecture the music business, African-American men and women, even anyone who attempted to talk her out of having a child. But the music constantly resists her dourness. This is an album of dazzling, free-flowing eclecticism: The rap is lean and taut, the reggae sways like the coolest island breeze, and the love rhapsodies swoon, thanks to the funky elegance of her own multitracked harmonies. *The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill* is unflinchingly intense in every aspect, yet it's informed by alove of music, a love of the healing power of the human voice, and a sense of self-respect that transcends the cliches of hip-hop and contemporary R&B. (Miseducation? Compared with Hill, most of today's dressed-up divas sound like they should be the ones returning to school.) Even if you wouldn't want to be trapped next to Hill at a party, her first solo missive sets the standard for a new breed of pop. It's music without borders, a truly world beat. *—David Browne*

1999: Robbie Williams — The Ego Has Landed

Robbie Williams' 'The Ego Has Landed' album cover.

Unless you count (a) the ascent of straight-outta-fraternities white rappers or (b) the augmentation of breasts, 1999 wasn't much of a year for innovation or breakthroughs. Precious little stood up and announced itself the way Nirvana, Dr. Dre, or Lauryn Hill, to name just a few, did in the past decade. Instead, we had to settle for craft and record-making skills, and in that respect, the past year was a pretty sensational one. Choose Shania or Ricky if you must, but in the realm of pop entertainment, I'll opt for this British bad boy, whose debut American album (cobbled together from two British releases) is an all-you-can-hum smorgasbord. From Euro-pop truffles ("Millennium," "No Regrets") to rueful pub rock ("Win Some Lose Some," "Old Before I Die") to stadium-friendly ballads ("Angels," "Strong") that would have easily fit onto old, pre-schlock Elton John albums, *The Ego Has Landed* takes a broad, internationalist view of pop. Starting with its title, it's hard to recall a more roguishly appealing record this year. And unlike most of his competition for Top 40 radio play, Williams has a genuine rough-edged personality — a last-call-of-the-night feistiness revealed in his hard-bloke's-night delivery, unrepentant-layabout lyrics (including one of the year's smartest couplets: "Every morning when I wake up / I look like Kiss but without the makeup"), and stage persona, which can best be described as a laddie-culture version of James Bond. Williams' pop rivals may have outsold him in the colonies, but no matter; he's a true backstreet boy. *—David Browne*

Original Article on Source

Source: "AOL Music"

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The 10 best albums of the 1990s: Our top pick for every year of the decade

The 10 best albums of the 1990s: Our top pick for every year of the decade

1990: Sinead O'Connor — I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got

1991: Nirvana — Nevermind

1992: Sonic Youth — Dirty

1993: U2 — Zooropa

1994: Beck — Mellow Gold

1995: Joan Osborne — Relish

1996: Various British artists

1997: Radiohead — OK Computer

1998: Lauryn Hill — The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

1999: Robbie Williams — The Ego Has Landed

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