Red Hot Chili Peppers: Blood Sugar Sex Magik

TRUTH BE TOLD, Blood Sugar Sex Magik is not my all-time favorite album, no matter how you slice it. It's not my desert island album—that's my autographed copy of Elvis Costello's This Year's Model. It's not the album I always turn to when I'm feeling really bad (Jeff Buckley, Grace) or really good (Pulp, His & Hers) or really mellow (the Verve, Urban Hymns) or really punchy (Pixies, Doolittle) or really angry (PJ Harvey, Rid of Me). It's not the best workout album in my catalog (tie: the Go-Go's Greatest and the Streets Original Pirate Material), the best make out album (duh—everybody makes out to Portishead or Nina Simone), or the best road trip album (Liz Phair, Exile in Guyville). I went for years not being able to locate the cassette I bought in high school before breaking down and purchasing the CD. These days, it's in rare rotation in my stereo.