"The Cars," The Cars

You have your whole life to write your first album, and just months to write your second album. If you’re a musician or an astute music fan, you’ve probably come across some variation of this statement before. And for many musicians, it’s painfully true. You start playing an instrument, you discover you can make some pretty cool noise and you start refining that noise into actual songs.

If you’re lucky, your songs find an audience. If you’re really lucky, you get to record those songs and release an album. If you’re really, really lucky, you get to make another album.

But that initial, wide-eyed period of discovery can never be duplicated, and once you’re in the album release-tour cycle, time is not on your side. Many artists crumble under the pressure, delivering a string of mediocrity after an impressive debut.

Then there are artists who buck the trend. (Imagine if The Beatles stopped after “Please Please Me.”) They continue to hone their sound, or evolve into something else entirely. Sometimes that “something else entirely” happens on album four, or album five, and it isn’t until that moment that the group or musician comes into their own.

The following list will examine some of our (read: my) favorite examples of both of these types of first albums. The first half is dedicated to albums that got it right straight out of the gate. The second half features debuts that have been forgotten by time: They either sound nothing like the artists’ best-known material, or they’re embryonic, pointing toward greatness to come.

Exhibit A: No. 1 is No. 1

“Ramones,” Ramones

Punk rock’s clarion call, the 1976 debut album from the New York City bruddahs set the template for just about everything the genre is known for: buzzsaw guitars, revved-up tempos, disaffected commentary on society (and some unfortunate, tongue-in-cheek Nazi imagery that nevertheless hasn’t aged all that well). While the Ramones would go on to release many more albums, the group never again hit the heights of this half-hour blast of energy.

Also of note: The Sex Pistols’ 1977 debut “Never Mind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols” was so influential, the band never followed it up (sure, that’s the reason).

“Illmatic,” Nas

New York rapper Nas is still regarded as one of the genre’s best, and his 1994 debut album “Illmatic” introduced the world to his literate storytelling and impeccable musicianship (aided by producers such as DJ Premier and Q-Tip, and guests such as his father, jazz musician Olu Dara). Since that stunning debut, he’s continued to challenge his audience with his live shows and studio records (including an “Illmatic” sequel, 2001’s “Stillmatic”), but this first volley remains his best.

Also of note: Fugees’ frontwoman Lauryn Hill released her game-changing debut studio album, “The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill,” in 1998, and to date it remains her only solo release.

“Horses,” Patti Smith

Punk rock’s poet priestess Patti Smith helped set the template for punk and alternative with 1975’s minimalist “Horses.” Over simple yet aggressive garage rock progressions, Smith snarls and spits sordid tales of New York City’s underground. The album almost single-handedly kicked off the art-punk movement and influenced everyone from R.E.M. to Hole.

Bonus: “Cracked Rear View,” Hootie & the Blowfish

Did you know Hootie & the Blowfish released five more albums after its hit-filled 1994 debut album? Why would you? Just “Let Her Cry.”

“The Cars,” The Cars

Along with Cheap Trick, Squeeze and more, The Cars brought big guitars and hooks to the emerging new wave scene of the ’70s and ’80s. The quartet came fully formed with 1978’s self-titled offering, which features some of the bands best-known songs: “Good Times Roll,” “My Best Friend’s Girl” and of course, “Just What I Needed.”

“The Fame,” Lady Gaga

Lady Gaga changed the face of modern pop music with 2008’s “The Fame,” an experimental art-pop record masquerading as dance music. Hits such as “Just Dance,” “Poker Face” and the exceptionally weird “LoveGame” pack surprising bite and insight, and Gaga herself proved to be a singular vocal and songwriting talent.

Exhibit B: No. 1 is not the one

“Queen,” Queen

Before Queen asked if this was real life or just fantasy, it released this 1973 debut album filled with Zeppelin-esque hard rock. While derivative, the album pointed to what was to come with Brian May’s distinctive guitar tones and Freddie Mercury’s operatic vocals.

“We’re Going Dancing Tonight,” Larry and His Flask

Here’s an example right in our backyard. Larry and His Flask is known today for its energetic mix of roots, folk and punk rock, but started life in the early-to-mid-2000s as a more typical punk unit. Good luck finding 2006’s out-of-print “We’re Going Dancing Tonight”; a few songs are floating around YouTube. They’re plenty loud and plenty fun, but not the LAHF we know and love.

“Metal Magic,” Pantera

Likewise, Pantera’s first four albums are hard to find on streaming services, and for good reason. Before gaining a reputation as thrash-groove metallers extraordinaire, the band started out as a generic glam outfit. This 1983 debut, while showcasing some decent guitar work by Dimebag Darrell, is pretty embarrassing. (If you’re really interested, you can find it on YouTube.)

“With Sympathy,” Ministry

Known for pioneering industrial metal in the late ’80s, Chicago’s Ministry started out as a synth-pop band on 1983’s “With Sympathy,” which sounds almost like a long lost New Order record. This one isn’t so much embarrassing as it is weird, especially compared with the dark, unsettling riffs and lyrics of later Ministry tracks.

“Bob Dylan,” Bob Dylan

Some fans will cry blasphemy at any criticism toward any Bob Dylan release. But the folk-rock luminary’s 1962 debut is nothing if not embryonic, packed full of traditional songs and old blues covers from Blind Lemon Jefferson and Bukka White. And his two original offerings, including the Woody Guthrie tribute “Song to Woody,” didn’t exactly set the world on fire.

Bonus: “Attila,” Attila

AKA Billy Joel’s organ-drums metal duo from 1970, a year before his proper solo debut, “Cold Spring Harbor.” Yes, it’s as weird as that sounds.