The Skinny's Desert Island Discs

After much hand-wringing and self-analysis, here are the records our team chose to accompany them when stranded and alone on a desert island. 

Think our choices suck? Let us know your Desert Island Discs in the comments below. 

The Beach Boys – 20 Golden Greats

This tape was the only thing we were allowed to play in the car when on a five-hour journey to Wales for our summer holiday. So thanks to the absolute dictatorship of my dad over the cassette player I know every word and the order of the songs on this compilation.

For surviving the desert island, it has pretty much everything from fun, fast pop when you're still loving being on the beach to the pretty desperate God Only Knows ("what I'd be without you") when you're sick of the island and are ready to go home and see your fam. [Issy Patience] 

[ ^ The very same tape] 

GZA – Liquid Swords

Arguably the best of the Wu Tang’s solo endeavors, GZA’s Liquid Swords begins with the brooding synths and opening voiceover from video nasty Shogun Assassin: “When I was little, my father was famous, he was the greatest samurai in the empire and the shogun’s decapitator… it was a bad time for the empire…” It’s a dark and foreboding (and, we must hope and imagine, metaphorical) start to a fairly unrelenting album, only ending on a lighter note with Killah Priest questioning the legitimacy of God. “See look into my eyes brethren / that's the lies of a Reverend / Why should you die to go to heaven?”

So, obviously this isn’t a mood lifter. But the album has had a huge and lasting effect on me. As a film fan, it’s cinematic in scope, theme and imagery; as a bookish type, the Clan, as usual, draw from a vast vocabulary of diverse origins, some of their own making. It is part storytelling, poetry and reportage; GZA is the Genius, of course. And all this set on top of headbanging beats, brutal enough to scare grannies while you're listening on the bus. Liquid Swords is the antidote to all vapid, mainstream, factory-produced music, in sound and lyrical content. So, for that reason, it brightens up my day when I still regularly listen. [Alan Bett] 

"While a song about a submarine might seem taunting when surrounded by ocean, I think it'd help keep my mood up..."

The Beatles – Revolver

Obviously they were starting to reach for their creative peak with the likes of Eleanor Rigby and Tomorrow Never Knows. But, this isn't the reason I'd want it with me. The album is only 34 minutes long and two-and-a-half of these are spent on Yellow Submarine.

While a song about a submarine might seem taunting when surrounded by ocean, I think it'd help keep my mood up. Ringo's down-to-earth and friendly voice always make me smile, and it is just hilarious that this track is splashed into the middle of such an iconic album. [Ben Venables] 

Austra – Feel It Break

Feel It Break is the only album I've never not wanted to listen to. Some of it is literally just a downright rave (Beat and the Pulse, Darken Her Horse) and other tracks are heartbreaking and ethereal (The Beast, Lose It). My main reason for fan-girling Austra's sound is the unbridled emotion pulsing through her lyrics; you can party to her music and break down to it at the same time, her lyrics are at times hopeless and desolate but her beats are optimistic and filled with energy. [Sarah Donley] 

Zero 7 – Simple Things

As a teenager I used to be an aggro little shit. Not just angsty, but properly radgy like a grumpy old git that won't give your ball back. Then one night I'd been staying in my sister's room – maybe mine was being painted or something – and the next morning she put on a CD. I was still dozing but as the music played I slowly found myself waking to the unusual feeling of calm. Blissful AF.

It was Zero 7's Simple Things (specifically, In the Waiting Line), and it was precisely that moment that taught me to CTFO: things aren't so bad, stop being a total arsehole. A particularly handy ethos to put into use when you're faced with the stresses of survival. I'd whack this on, grab a coconut and wait for the rescue boat.

Plus, it's the archetypal desert island disc, throwing back to the late-90s/early-00s escapism era when being stranded on a beach in the middle of nowhere was actually kinda desirable, thanks to Alex Garland's The Beach and its Leonardo DiCaprio film adaptation, both spinning a much more tempting yarn on the Lord of the Flies narrative. S'all about burying your head in the sand when life's at risk, after all. [Jess Hardiman] 

LCD Soundsystem – Sound of Silver

This album celebrated its 10th anniversary in March this year and when it originally came out it probably, in all honesty, didn't have that much of an impact on me. But during the band's five-year hiatus I became closer to it than I thought it was possible to ever get to an album, or even a band for that matter. 

I listen to it fairly regularly – it lifts me when I'm sad, relieves stress when I'm angry, comforts me when I'm lonely and when I'm happy it's just the best thing ever to listen to or dance around to. For whatever reason I have an incredibly strong inexplicable connection with this album; I'm glad I found it and I feel like it's a big part of me. It's my good day, bad day and everything in between go-to album – I genuinely would feel lost without it. [Tallah Brash]

Angel Olsen – My Woman

Despite exhaustively listening to it every time I'm walking across town for about six months I'm still not bored of a single track. I think this bodes well if it's the only thing I'll be able to listen to indefinitely.

It's also one of those albums which becomes more relevant to my life with every listen. That could be due to the fact Olsen's a brilliant lyricist who sings on behalf of a generation of women wanting to be taken seriously, to be respected and to be given what they deserve – but I secretly like to hope it's just because Angel and I are kindred spirits. And what's better on a desert island than a kindred spirit? Just ask Tom Hanks. [Kate Pasola]

Superchunk – Majesty Shredding

Boiling your favourite record down to a single choice is hard. Some days it's difficult enough trying to convince yourself which band is your favourite, let alone which of their records. On reflection though, I've decided to go with the band that's been my most common answer to the first question throughout my adult life – Superchunk, and their 2010 comeback record Majesty Shredding.

In many ways it's only a rock'n'roll album – it dips into powerpop, punk, shoegaze and something akin to what was called 'emo' in the mid-90s, but it's still just four folks with guitars playing pop songs. I'm not even sure it could be quantified as their 'best' album, per se (1991's No Pocky For Kitty or 1995's Here's Where The Strings Come In might take that prize, maybe). Here's the point, though: when the North Carolina veterans decided to make their first album in nine years, they did so with a renewed sense of purpose. A clarity of sound. A wisdom that they couldn't possibly have had in their younger days, and all without losing youthful energy that made them so vital nearly 30 years ago.

There's not a bad cut on this record. No, it's probably not for everyone – Mac McCaughan's voice is probably an acquired taste, and how much you love it will almost certainly depend on how much you like old-fashioned US college rock. But there's something in that divisive voice; a defiant optimism when he sings "I stopped sinking and learned to surf"; a fatalistic sense of comfort when he answers notions of existential angst with, "So here's a song about nothing and everything at once."

Whatever it is, it's kept me listening regularly for seven years now. I'm glad I've got these 11 perfect songs to keep me company. [Will Fitzpatrick] 

"On a desert island, I'm worried I'd go from Smeagol to Gollum by Sunday..."

Nelly Furtado – Woah, Nelly!

On a desert island, I'm worried I'd go from Smeagol to Gollum by Sunday. To slow/soundtrack this slow realisation of my full loincloth-wearing and wide-eyed potential, I'd go for Nelly Furtado's Whoa, Nelly! Cos if I've got a lot of space to be dancing naked and crying at the same time, I'd like to have year-2000 Furtado's nasal and precocious pop vox blaring out the maddening crash of the tide. [Adam Benmakhlouf] 

The Mountain Goats – Heretic Pride

Alone on a blob in the sea deprived of both conversation and reading material, I hope the rich vocab and imagery of Arguably the World's Greatest Lyricist John Darnielle would 1) keep my brain ticking over and 2) remind me of the beauty and the possibilities of life as well as hopefully how to speak when I get the hell outta there.

While not considered their magnum opus it's got something for every emotional need: bangers for nights getting smashed around the fire (Sax Rohmer #1, Autoclave); Erik Friedlander's plaintive cello (Marduk T-Shirt Men's Room Incident); and, should I never be getting off this damn island, songs of acceptance for when the end finally comes. And not incidentally, the album kicks off with the chorus "I am coming home to you / if it's the last thing that I do" which should be pretty motivating on the 465th day of whittling that boat. [Lauren Strain] 

Panic! At The Disco – A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

There are some immortal albums in my library that'll stay with me forever – Weezer's debut Weezer (aka The Blue Album) probably being at the top of that list – but being trapped on a desert island with little chance of escape, I'd go for Panic! At The Disco's outrageous first album A Fever You Can't Sweat Out.

Its pretentious, nasal posturing and aspirational emo anthemics were perfect for a hormonal 17-year-old trying to grapple with the important things in life (school, girls, video games). Stranded on an island, there'd be such transportive catharsis in belting out those vein-popping choruses and self-important whiny lyrics that I'd probably forget my lot altogether, fashioning eyeliner out of charcoal, growing my fringe out to cover one eye and moshing until I died. [George Sully] 

The Rolling Stones – Tattoo You

Since being stranded on a desert island is as good an opportunity as any to ditch all pretence, I'll go back to my dad-rock roots and pick The Rolling Stones' Tattoo You. It's a less obvious choice than Exile On Main St but is mostly comprised of studio outtakes from the early 70s. No Use In Crying seems good advice for being lost at sea, Slave has a beachy reggae groove, and Tops is perhaps the Mick Jagger at his most ironic, self-aware best ("every man is the same come on / I'll make you a star"). Rock on. [Claire Francis]

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What one album could you not live without? Tell us in the comments...