The best debut albums ever, as chosen by Best Fit staff and writers

In 1988, guitar music was in desperate need of innovation, of something radically new. And then, from nowhere, along came My Bloody Valentine.

Pre Isn’t Anything, they could be politely described as an inoffensive post-C86 band, yet a line-up change that saw Kevin Shields taking vocal duties with Bilinda Butcher, and completed by Colm Ó Cíosóig and Debbie Googe – undoubtedly the most formidable rhythm section since Talking Heads’ Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth – changed everything.

Brian Eno described the impact of The Velvet Underground & Nico – an equally uncompromising album – as “everyone who bought it started a band.” Was Isn’t Anything the record that launched a thousand shoegaze bands, who stared at their endless guitar pedals rather than the audience? Was it the record that had critics searching for a word to describe this music and come up with ‘dream-pop’? It’s unequivocally both of those things, but as with all great debuts it triggered a sea change in music, with its influence extending far beyond the indie world in which it was created.

For all of the noisenik plaudits it garnered, and yes, “Feed Me With Your Kiss” has the most evil sounding hook ever written, Isn’t Anything’s melodicism is the overlooked part of the story, with the acoustic drones of “Lose My Breath” and “No More Sorry” seeing them dialling down the volume and creating music of remarkable subtlety and immersion. As for that guitar sound, Shield’s dubbed his use of a tremolo bar as ‘Glide Guitar’ – (it even has its own Wikipedia page) – and no one else has managed to make a guitar sound like that since. No one ever will, even guitar pedals can’t do the job.

Isn’t Anything is one of the most unique sounding debut albums ever made, but it’s the songwriting that makes it truly remarkable. It’s 12 songs were so good they even omitted the ear shattering “You Made Me Realise” from the final track-list. That song would go on to evolve to up to an hour in length live, but the free-thinking innovation of Isn’t Anything provided the launchpad for how it got there. Isn’t Anything wasn’t just a radically new vision for what a debut album could do, it went further than that, it changed the world of music. (Ed Nash)

With most of my favourite artists, I don’t consider their debut to be their best record. But with The Breeders, it kinda all went downhill after Pod.

Not particularly far downhill. Maybe only a centimetre or two. I love or at least like all of their output, but if you only know them from “Cannonball” or Last Splash, there is better stuff here. And if you’re only aware of The Breeders because they shared a member with The Pixies, in honesty, this equals anything in their canon.

Like all Kim Deal albums, the songwriting, melodies and vocals are impeccable, even at this early stage when the edges are rougher. Like all Steve Albini recordings, any imperfections are captured in perfect fidelity – yet “sloppy” rarely hits this way. Like the Pixies, it’s scary and sensual and magical, but Black Francis never did all three simultaneously with quite thepower of Deal on “Iris”.

There’s no sense of a band finding their feet about Pod – hell, their version of “Happiness is a Warm Gun” is better than The Beatles’ own – but the nascent Breeders were far from a refined band, and that’s part of the album’s wonder. They wore pyjamas while recording it, apparently. And when they were finished, they wore them to the pub. (Thomas Hannan)

Released in early 2008, Hold on Now, Youngster… wears its heart on its sleeve. From the overly punctuated title to the dramatically foreboding sentiment, it’s a record steeped in youthful pretension and hopeless romanticism. Fresh out of university and full of promise, before reality bites and feelings get muted, this record celebrates a time when the two most important things were who you were kissing when the lights came up, and what song you were kissing them to.

“Four sweaty boys with guitars tell me nothing about my life,” sings Gareth Campesinos! on “…And We Exhale and Roll Our Eyes in Unison.” Their debut marked a kickback against the landfill indie that came before it. There are nods and references aplenty, encapsulating a moment when ATP festival, Plan B Magazine and the DiS message boards were beacons of belonging. With its release, Los Campesinos! sparked a scene of outsiders, bringing together artists who made guitar music that was creative, passionate and idiosyncratic. Although the acts the band championed were sonically diverse, they all shared principles of artistic expression and endeavour.

Not that they weren’t open to a little commercialism too, as the record’s call-to-arms “You! Me! Dancing!” proved. With its brooding intro, instant riff and joyous energy, it soundtracked Budweiser’s bubbles as well as it did many sticky dancefloors. Songs like “Sweet Dreams, Sweet Cheeks” and “Broken Heartbeats Sound Like Breakbeats” are rich in girlish idealism, bright hooks and unadulterated hope. Across their later records, the subjects become heavier, the production nuanced, the lyrics more self-aware. But on Hold on Now, Youngster… Los Campesinos! froze a memory of what it means to be young and open-hearted, because regardless of how much time passes, the person who’s holding your hand when the lights come up will always be important. (Jen Long)

A far cry from the pop anthems of the modern day solo project, Panic! at the Disco first emerged as a quartet in a flourish of emo-laced melodrama. Seeped in pop culture references from the likes of 2004’s Closer and the bibliography of cult author Chuck Palahniuk (most famed for Fight Club), A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out is a record that signified a new generation of emo finally tipping into the mainstream.

Split into two acts, the debut took the theatricalities of third wave emo to new heights. Following an introductory welcome, single “The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is Press Coverage” (a title lifted from Palahniuk’s Survivor) showcased a band at ease with their pop-punk influences and keen to dance outside the genre, delving into 80s synths and a spiralling carnivalesque dance beat. While initially shunned by critics, the group possessed a self-awareness of their age and newcomer position, with dramatic lyrics aptly postured beside cognisant lines such as “we're still so young, desperate for attention”.

Changing tune midway, the record’s centrepiece (pointedly named “Intermission”) defines the output, with a fast electronic interlude pivoting to a more traditional ensemble. A foreshadowing of the latter half’s embrace of the razzle-dazzle of showbiz, a brandish of keys welcomes orchestral life into the album, accordions and violins taking to the stage. Warmly familiar with experimental flares, the group soundtrack a seedy club on “But It’s Better If You Do”, while “Build God, Then We’ll Talk” churns out a darker reimagining of the chorus of The Sound of Music’s “My Favourite Things”. Almost 20 years on, Fever’s best-known single “I Write Sins Not Tragedies” remains a dancefloor hit, having taken radio airwaves by storm upon release.

With members whittled down in later years and a change in musical direction through psychedelic-rock to the realms of full-frontal pop, Panic! at the Disco now remains the solo moniker of singer Brendan Urie. Comparatively, maybe the album did foretell a pivot for the band. A long run, split into two acts. (Amy Albinson)

What were you doing when you were thirteen? I know I was running around sneaking booze out of my parents’ personal stash, trying to avoid homework and just generally making a nuisance of myself in public areas, but Mutya Buena, Keisha Buchanan and Siobhan Donaghy were already busy at work creating their first album as Sugababes, One Touch. Initially inspired by the success of En Vogue and released when the trio were just 15 and 16 years of age, the album is far more than a tribute to the R&B that found its home stateside; it’s a monument to coming of age in a rapidly changing United Kingdom.

A far cry from the sheen-heavy pop that the group would become known for in its multiple incarnations, One Touch is a stunning exercise in finding perfection in feeling. Laid bare with little to no vocal effects, the trio muse on subject matter in a tone that feels distinctly intimate, as if the listener is eavesdropping in on the adolescent arguments between childhood sweethearts, or the inevitable debrief afterwards with friends (should their £10 phone credit stretch that far). The album is sonically diverse too, spawning genuinely timeless pop classics ("Overload"), uplifting R&B ("Soul Sound"), and easily the greatest unintentional Christmas song of all time ("New Year").

The album only peaked at 26 in the UK charts on its initial run and saw them dropped by London Records as a result, but its enduring legacy would help redefine the definition of what a girl group could be in the UK; never wanting to be the Spice Girls, purer than All Saints, more underground than Girls Aloud. That legacy would go on to inform UK music at large; with contemporary artists such as Blood Orange and FLO taking clear inspiration from Sugababes’ short-lived original incarnation and setting the stage for a new frontier in British pop music. (Mitch Stevens)

Chaz Bear (then Bundick)’s Toro Y Moi debut came in the first few days of 2010, solidifying his position in the much too contested sphere of chillwave that had enjoyed its hazy, warbled zenith in the couple of years previous. Causers of This proffered multi-textural, ambient pops and swells (‘Blessa’, ‘Lissoms’), stoned funk glitches (‘Imprint After’), velveteen fades and other pockets of surprises in richer fidelity to some of its peers — despite its prerequisite bedroom origin.

Though some had already begun to scoff at the genre with its all too easy associations of bliss and nostalgia, to those caught by its glare the debut soon became one of its hallmarks, with the then 21-year-old creative particularly lauded for his production flair. “Bundick [...] is more producer than songwriter”, wrote one Pitchfork writer at the time, too enthralled by its rhythmic bounces and hip-hop-esque pad hits to notice the melodic brightness overhead. What an oversight this was. The moody, emotive glow of “Oh, not even a year/ Has gone by already on ‘Minors’ is the song’s dramatic centrepiece, while the playful falsettos on ‘Imprint After’ reflected its fuzzy, zig-zag synths. Judging by the amount of times I heard ‘Talamak’ at my university town’s local indie night, I think it’s fair to say that was a bit of an earworm too.

But it is true that in Causers of This there were many surprises to be found wrapped in its many layers. In the years that followed fans would realise surprise to be one of Bear’s defining virtues, as he springboarded from chillwave to groovy yacht and psych rock, dance-inspired R&B, mumble rap and trap and progressive funk fusion. (John Bell)

Some debut albums arrive as a crystalline artistic vision. For all its critical acclaim, Pretty Hate Machine – released by Nine Inch Nails’ in 1989 – is not one of them.

At the time, reviewers were warm to, if not entirely sold on, the young Trent Reznor’s tangle of sex odes, hard rock and chaotic sampling. The Chicago Tribune called out his “soap-on-a-rope” vocals, and others were simply ambivalent, citing confusion over the sometimes–awkward collision of styles and influences.

But these failings were a product of the same process that made Pretty Hate Machine work. The album was recorded when Reznor was a young engineer at Cleveland’s Right Track Studios; a pet project he suspected “no one would hear anyway”. He admitted afterwards that he’d become withdrawn and isolated in the studio, powering through gruelling 2am starts and choosing to play all the instruments himself. This claustrophobic, one-man-band experiment was unpolished but – at its heart – one of the most soulful and strangely accessible records of the late 80s. Reznor kept the bombastic pop conventions of New Wave, but swapped its cool detachment for harrowing devotionals. He took the brutal mechanics of Industrial and made them fleshy and evocative.

Underneath this new sound, too, was Reznor’s ability to write a slamming hook. Even if you struggle with some of the record’s more curious writing choices (on “Down In It”, Reznor raps along to the melody of “Rain Rain Go Away”, which is as baffling as it sounds), the choruses of “Head Like a Hole” and “Sanctified” still demand raised fists and impassioned lip–syncing. Say what you like about the rivalling merit of Industrial pioneers Ministry and Skinny Puppy, but you can’t imagine either of them getting covered by Miley Cyrus.

Like Depeche Mode's Violator – released a year later, and connected to Pretty Hate Machine via producer Flood – Trent’s debut injected some much–needed darkness into the charts, feeding an entire generation of subcultures. And in the present day, it’s a blistering record of this alternative powerhouse’s raw talent. (Kitty Richardson)

The self-titled debut from Scissor Sisters shot to Number 1 success in the UK, and with it rose a new player in the arguably bland and frustratingly straight music scene of 2004. With clever and thought-twisting lyrics, the album is undeniably queer. There’s such nuance and intelligence in its writing that it’s hard to not feel a little bit gay as you listen to it, and I dare you to find a soul that won’t singalong to the irresistible groove of “Take Your Mama.” As you notice each and every easter egg of queer-culture hidden within it, it justifies its place in the best LGBTQ+ albums of all time.

Scissor Sisters was disruptive by nature. A five-piece, queer collective singing about “Tits On The Radio” (how mainstream media stole from gay culture) and being “Comfortably Numb” (covering Pink Floyd’s track about depression and despair) wasn’t the norm in the early 2000’s, and its reception was astoundingly progressive for the time. “Filthy/Gorgeous” was designed to shock yet trickled through popular culture with ease – “We wanted it to be honest,” Ana Matronic said. “The song is about transexual hookers on acid so what the fuck do you want?”

The album set out to be a journey, and it does just that by picking you up and hurtling down a weird and wonderful route of raunchy sex and raw emotions at a hundred miles an hour. Even if their second effort Ta-Dah rose to higher global success, was their self-titled debut their best? Absolutely. (David Cobbald)