I
listen to a lot of albums—and sort out quite a few. But everything I
rate 70% or higher is something I’d like to share with you here in the
form of reviews. This page is updated from time to time. As of now,
September 2025, the following reviews are available on this blog. To
help you find albums that match your taste, I’ve grouped the reviews
under genre umbrellas. Enjoy browsing, listening, and discovering!
The compilation Best of Eis am Stiel arrives like a carefully arranged jukebox set: an anthology of early Rock'n'Roll, Doo Wop and Brill Building singles gathered under a sunlit sleeve and issued in Germany in 1990 on the Edelton imprint (catalog numbers on pressings include EDL 2534-1 and 47 062 5). This vinyl pressing presents eighteen tracks, sequenced to keep momentum while drifting through variations on teenage exuberance and post-war popular music forms. The record reached the national soundtrack listings in late August 1990, making a brief appearance on the charts that reflects the compilation’s status as a nostalgia vehicle tied to the cinematic series from which its title borrows.
Side A opens with Lollipop, the confection-sweet single that consolidated the close-harmonic pop of the late 1950s. The Chordettes’ version here functions as an overture: the record’s opening syllables are presented with tight vocal blend and a studio reverb that positions the melody in a small, intimate room, the arrangement privileging vocal clarity over instrumental elaboration. The immediate follow-through, Pretty Little Angel Eyes by Curtis Lee, shifts into early 1960s doo-wop-tinged pop; Lee’s lead is brassy, buoyant, and mixed slightly forward so that the call-and-response backing figures as the track’s structural support. The placement of Roy Orbison’s Ooby Dooby third on the side changes the tone: Orbison’s take emphasizes punchier rockabilly phrasing and an economy of guitar fills, offering a contrast to the smoother balladry that frames it. Bill Haley’s Crazy Man Crazy brings the classic 1950s rock & roll stomp back into focus, with a midrange snare that snaps on the downbeat and a rhythmic propulsion centered on the walking bass; the mastering on this compilation leaves Haley’s vocal grit intact, which helps preserve the original single’s urgency. Jerry Lee Lewis appears in three consecutive entries—Roll Over Beethoven, School Days and Sweet Little Sixteen—and the trio functions as a micro-suite of raucous piano-led interpretations of Chuck Berry material: Lewis’s left-hand patterns and honky-tonk runs dominate the foreground while the production retains a tape-roller warmth. The Crests’ Sixteen Candles closes the side on a gentler cadence, the vocal lead framed by smooth backing pads and a restraint that counters the previous side’s piano fury. These front-loaded choices make side A read as an arc from bubblegum vocal pop to the harder edges of rock & roll, preserving the idiosyncrasies of each original single while normalizing their levels for vinyl continuity.
Side B continues the period sweep and leans into danceable singles and melodic hooks. Dion’s The Wanderer lands early in the set and serves as a pivot toward swaggering rhythm drives; Dion’s phrasing is conversational and the guitars sit behind his vocal so the narrative line remains foregrounded. Chris Montez’s Let’s Dance is included as a stylistic counterpoint: lighter in production, this track is mixed to emphasize percussion and a clean electric lead that outlines the melody with small, tasteful fills. The inclusion of Fabian’s Tiger and Little Richard’s A Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On reintroduces rock’s more ecstatic registers—Fabian’s track is an archetype of teen-idol pop with a tight backbeat and echo on the lead vocal, while Little Richard’s entry retains the manic vocal attack and percussive piano punches that made his singles immediate and combustible. Sandy Nelson’s instrumental Teen Beat gives the compilation a rhythmic breather; the drum pattern is prominent in the mix and the track’s arrangement highlights cymbal coloration and tom accents, which test the fidelity of the turntable and stylus more than most vocal tracks. The Chiffons’ He’s So Fine returns the listener to a sweet harmonized pop space, and Johnny Tillotson’s Poetry In Motion follows with a smooth croon supported by orchestral touches that illustrate the era’s studio habit of augmenting rock rhythms with strings or soft brass. The Shirelles’ Will You Love Me Tomorrow offers a restrained, emotionally open moment that balances the compilation’s more ebullient numbers. Frankie Avalon’s Venus and Lee Hazlewood’s rendition of These Boots Are Made For Walking close the side with two different takes on melodic directness: Avalon’s pop-oriented lead atop neat surfish guitar figures, and Hazlewood’s cut delivering a spoken-sung baritone presence that reads as a late-60s studio vignette rather than a dance single. The sequence on side B emphasizes variety within a narrow era—instrumental workouts, teen idols, and girl-group vocalism—and the mastering choices maintain even perceived loudness while allowing percussive transients their space. The compilation’s production identity deserves attention. The source singles, originally recorded and produced across different studios and years, are presented here as a coherent listening experience through consistent equalization and a mild, analog-leaning limiting that reduces dynamic extremes without erasing attack. On tracks such as A Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On and Crazy Man Crazy, the bass and kick drum occupy a present, physical band-room range that translates well to domestic turntable systems; on ballads like Lollipop and Sixteen Candles, the midrange is given a slight warmth that brings vocal overtones forward without muddying consonants. This mastering approach favors uninterrupted flow for side-long listening sessions, which suits the compilation’s role as a soundtrack companion. As an artefact tied to the film series suggested by the title, the compilation functions on several levels: it traffics in recognizable hooks that anchor viewers’ memories to specific cinematic moments; it acts as a curated playlist that strings together hit singles in an order intended for easy ingestion; and it operates as a merchandising object sold on vinyl to capitalize on a revivalist interest in the films and their era. The chart appearance in August 1990 confirms that the set found a measurable audience at the time of release, placing it within a short window of commercial visibility. You might also like the review I wrote for "Eddie Cochran - The Very Best of Eddie Cochran: Tenth Anniversary Album (recorded 1956 - 1960, released 1970)".
