Bob Dylan "Highway 61 Revisited" [1965]

Absolutely every questionable aesthetic foisted into the milieu of rock music not already introduced by Elvis or the Beatles came from this dipshit: nasal, pitchy vocal delivery; lousy harmonica playing; snot-nosed self-importance; stinky campfire conceits; and most importantly -- bitching about random aspects of society not in order to make the world a better place (impossible with himself in the way, for starters) but to sledgehammer his own grievances into a Neumann mic just because some music industry putz allowed him to. No level of triviality escapes Dylan's engorged wrath, and his dime-store paperback vocabulary fools legions of people that he actually knows what he's talking about -- so much so that his devotees always forgive the fact that he's easily the least-talented singer/guitarist in recorded history (pre-Pavement). What Dylan fans never acknowledge is that his exorbitant volume of recorded work didn't end the Vietnam War, Watergate did. Each song on "Highway 61 Revisited" sounds like it goes on forever, even the short ones. This is the album kids in school 50 years from now will be forced to study and hate every minute of; if there's anything they'll glean from the experience, it's that everyone back in the 60s had horribly shitty taste in music.