Great songs, according to me (Part 39)

Yes, it's time for another ten great songs! Man, it's been a while! And because I've finally gotten around to labeling my posts, I don't have to link to previous posts. You can just click on the label to find the previous ones. I know my eight readers will be happy about that!

381. Next Year (by Foo Fighters on the album There Is Nothing Left To Lose, 1999): Dave and the boys are surprisingly good at writing ballad-like pop songs, and this is one of them. I'd like to say it's off one of their better albums, but all FF albums are good, so it's hard to say where this one ranks. This song, however, is great, as the gentlemen do a wonderful job with soaring melodies and music that uplifts without being schmaltzy. It's a marvelously hopeful song that manages to be mature but not dull. Grohl's lyrics are nice, too: "Into the night we shine/Lighting the way we glide by/Catch me if I get too high/When I come down/I'll be coming home next year." Like a lot of Foo Fighters songs, the first time you hear this you feel like you've always known it. It's quite odd but wonderful how that happens.

382. New Jack Hustler (by Ice-T on the album O. G. Original Gangster, 1991): I'm not sure if I've ever written about this before, but a few of my college friends and I went to see New Jack City in the theater in State College when it was released. We enjoyed it, but that's not the story. This was when people were rioting during screenings of the movie, and although State College is a pleasant little college town, we didn't know what we were in for, going to see the movie. It was pretty interesting, because white people were definitely in the minority, but I didn't feel like anyone was going to beat me up because of it. It was just a weird episode in my life, because it's very rare that I find myself in the minority when it comes to skin color. I reckon that's probably true for most white people - we don't often end up someplace where most of the people aren't white. I don't know why white people wouldn't want to go see New Jack City, because it's a damned good movie. Okay, maybe not damned good, but pretty entertaining. It was also the first time I had ever heard Ice-T's music, in the form of this anthem that plays during a chase scene. Later, I heard the entire song (the movie version is truncated) and absolutely loved it. it has a great groove, which propels the song along, and Ice's lyrics, which cut to the core of why so many poverty-stricken people don't care about the system and just look to get paid, are devastatingly honest. It's certainly not an excuse for criminal behavior, but when someone from the street raps, "The end justifies the means, that's the system; I learned that in school then I dropped out," you can't help but listen. But Ice also understands the cost: "Every dollar I get, another brother drops." That makes the allure - "So many hos on my jock, think I'm a movie star/Nineteen - I got a fifty thousand dollar car" - more tragic. Ice often thinks that there's a conspiracy against black people, which borders on the silly, but otherwise, he gives us a fascinating look into what's going on in the minds of young African-Americans. That he can lay it over such a funky track makes it great.

383. New Way Home (by Foo Fighters on the album The Colour And The Shape, 1997): Hey, look! it's another Foo Fighters song! What do you know? This song ends the boys' best album (although the new one challenges it, I'll tell you that much), and like a lot of Fighters songs, it's melodic but rocking all at once and fills you with a strange kind of nostalgia. Eventually, of course, it builds into a primal scream of defiance, as Dave sings "I'm not scared" over and over, altenating it with the two lines, "I felt like this one my way home" and "I pass the boats and the Kingdome." Maybe evoking the old stadium is why we get that sense of nostalgia. I don't know - all I know is that it's a great song.

384. Nice To Know You (by Incubus on the album Morning View, 2001): I only own this one Incubus album, even though it's pretty good, but there are a few great songs. This song opens the album, and it's a weird little tune that sets the stage well for the rest. Lyrically, it's a bit odd, but musically it really shines, with a strange meandering vibe that ramps up into a heavy beat for the chorus. As a mood setter, it previews the album's swing between surfer sensibility and metal grinding. You can't help but bang your head, and then you lurch back to laid-back. It's a weird mix, but it works well.

385. Nicotine & Gravy (by Beck on the album Midnite Vultures, 1999): Beck's 1999 album is so funky and weird, and this song is one of its standouts. Beck lazily drawls through oddball lyrics like "Her left eye is lazy, she looks so Israeli," but the Seventies vibe carries it through, and it becomes a charming love song. If it's just weird, it probably wouldn't work, but as with a lot of Beck songs, the foundation is solid.

386. Nights Of Mystery (by the Georgia Satellites on the album Georgia Satellites, 1986): Krys mocks me for liking the first Georgia Satellites album, but I do. Most of it I like despite it not being all that good (the songs rock, but they're not that good), but "Nights of Mystery" is a nice country-fried rocker that begins quietly and cranks up nicely. It's a strangely sweet song, too, as we get nice lyrics like "I got this genius of a heart that shines wild and free ..." Every Georgia Satellites song has this kind of vibe to it, but this song manages to be deeper, and therefore better.

387. 1999 (by Prince and the Revolution on the album 1999, 1983): "I was dreamin' when I wrote this, forgive me if it goes astray ..." Sing along, people! Do I really need to write any more about this? Prince at perhaps his peak (although he has had a lot of peaks, but let's call this his first one), his band kicking ass, and a elegy about nuclear war. "But life is just a party and parties aren't meant to last ..." Get out your vinyl and fire it up!

388. Nitro Burning Funny Cars (by The Dead Milkmen on the album Bucky Fellini, 1987): A simple guitar hook and hilarious lyrics. That's all that's needed sometimes, and while a lot of the Dead Milkmen songs fall into this category, some are simply more hilarious than others, and those reach greatness. Like this one: "This world is full of people who think a lot about bowling balls" and "This world is full of people who look a lot like Gavin McCloud" are eerily true. What's up with that? Just a great, great song.

389. No Further Damage (by P. M. Dawn on the album Dearest Christian, I'm So Very Sorry For Bringing You Here. Love, Dad, 1998): As usual with P. M. Dawn songs, this features some beautiful lyrics about love and why it's important. It's a typically lush song, as well, and simply takes you along into that strange world that P. M. Dawn inhabits. I just don't have much else to say about it.

390. No Man's Land (by Billy Joel on the album River Of Dreams, 1993): Joel's "last" album gets off to a rollicking start with this anti-capitalism screed which stands as a companion piece to "Allentown" - where that was contemplative and sad, ten years later Joel is pissed off, and with good reason. Joel does a good job blending trenchant lyrics and throbbing music, and this song proves, for the last time, that he can rock out when he wants to. It sets the tone for the album, which is somewhat melancholy. It's not his best album, but it features some great songs, and this is one of them.

Well, that was fun. I've had this post sitting around for almost a year, and I finally got it finished. I don't know why it took me so long; that's just the way it is, I suppose. Anyway, that's ten more great songs for your iPod! You know you fill it based on my recommendations!

Great songs, according to me (Part 36)

Hey, it's another installment of the never-ending list of songs I think are great! By the time I'm finished with my original list, I'll have to make a new list just as long to reflect the music I've gotten since then! So it will, indeed, never end!

In case you're interested, I have written other installments, as you might guess. Here is the archive for Parts 1-15, here is the archive for Parts 16-30, and here is Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, and Part 35. But let's look to the future!

351. Mean Street (by Van Halen on the album Fair Warning, 1981): The opening song on Van Halen's fourth (and wildly underrated) album signals that this album is different and slightly darker than the first three, which featured bright, shiny, party metal. This time, Eddie's groove is much rougher and fuzzier, and Dave's growl is definitely far more menacing than usual. The lyrics reflect this: "At night I walk this stinkin' street past the crazies on my block and I see the same old faces and I hear the same old talk." It gets darker from there, until Roth snarls "See, a gun is real easy in this desperate part of town, turns you from hunted into hunter, gonna hunt somebody down" as Eddie's guitar starts to fade into the distance. It's a short blast of anger from a band that had rarely shown it, even in their darker songs, and would not show very often in the future.

352. Meaningless (by Magnetic Fields on the album 69 Love Songs (vol. 3), 1999): Like most of the songs on this excellent album, this is a quick one, but also as usual, the strength of it lies in Stephen Merritt's fun lyrics, which propel the song along. Many of the lyrics on the album are much darker than the tone of the song implies, as in this one, when Merritt sings, "And if some dim bulb should say we were in love in some way, kick all his teeth in for me and if you feel like keeping on kicking, feel free" and it sounds absolutely delightful.

353. Memories Can't Wait (by Living Colour on the album Vivid, 1988): This is a strange song, but that doesn't make it any less great. It starts off with a strong grungy vibe, angry lyrics, pounding through the song, and then suddenly switches to a quiet, even reflective sound, with Cory Glover musing about his memories. It's an odd shift, but it works in the song, and then the band slowly builds again to a powerful finish. It's an excellent song on an excellent album.

354. MidLife Crisis (by Faith No More on the album Angel Dust, 1992): Man, I love this album and this song. Faith No More's follow-up to their breakout album The Real Thing didn't continue their rise, but it's a better collection. On this song, Mike Patton growls "Go on and wring my neck like when a rag gets wet" to start, and it only gets better. The chorus is fantastic: "You're perfect, yes, it's true, but without me you're only you. Your menstruating heart isn't bleeding enough for two." The music is less heavy than many of FNM's songs, but it's somewhat haunting, grinding away and propping up Patton's anger. It's too bad Faith No More never made it bigger.

355. Milk & Honey (by Beck on the album Midnite Vultures, 1999): I've said before how much I love Beck's disco album, and this is one reason. It begins with a kind of heavy rock groove, but switches quickly to a space-age disco beat, with corny keyboards that nevertheless fit beautifully in the framework of what Beck is doing. As is fairly typical with Beck, especially on this album, the lyrics are almost incomprehensible (at least to a layperson like me), but they have a twisted sense of fun about them, and at the end, when the music becomes more driving, they even have a bit of poignancy to them. It's a wild song, and a perfect example of Beck's versatility.

356. Mind Over Matter (by Ice-T on the album O. G. Original Gangster, 1991): Whenever I listen to this album, I rap along with every single lyric, which makes it the only time I ever use the "n" word (I hope Roger forgives me for it). I love this album, but only a few songs are really great, and this is one of them. It's simply a song about T telling us how great he is, but he does it with such flair and lyrical fun, plus he gets slow and funky on the song, that we can't help but forgive his arrogance. He does, however, talk about improving his mind (hence the title) and how he's making himself smarter than anyone else on the streets. "My brain's a hand grenade - catch" he raps, then follows with "I'm a hit you with an overload of bottomless thought, reversin' all the shit you're taught." Considering Ice-T's subsequent career, maybe he did know something we all didn't.

357. Miss America (by Styx on the album The Grand Illusion, 1977): I'm not sure if you're a true American if you don't like Styx, but we'll discuss that another day. "Miss America" is a lesser-known great song from this, their triumphant masterpiece, but Dennis DeYoung really sells it with his nasty lyrics about a woman who believes looks are everything, but realizes they aren't. I love the line "In your cage at the human zoo, they all stop to look at you." It starts the second side of the vinyl album (you all own it, right?) very strongly.

358. Mofo (by U2 on the album Pop, 1997): Many people, apparently, don't like this album, but it's a very good disc, highlighted by this song, which has a cool techno groove and deeper lyrics than you would expect. Bono gives the lyrics some emotion, too, and we feel his pain when he sings, "Mother, am I still your son?" Meanwhile, the boys give us an ethereal vibe when the song slows down before ratcheting up again. I wish U2 had kept pushing the musical envelope, but on the next album, they went "back to their roots," meaning they tried to recapture the cash cow music that had made them global superstars. Oh well. This album isn't great, but it's far more interesting than their last two releases.

359. Moment of Forgiveness (by Indigo Girls on the album Become You, 2002): Like most Indigo Girls songs, the strength of this tune lies in its lyrics (not to bash the music, which is always pleasant, but it's not like it's revolutionary or anything). Amy's powerful voice takes over as she sings about trying to reconnect with a lover in a moment of weakness. There's no hope to rekindle the romance, but that doesn't stop Amy from trying. It's a common theme in popular music, of course, but as usual, the way it's sung and the lyrics used make it much sadder than you would think. It's why we cling to hope when it's all gone.

360. Monday A.M. First Thing (by Think Tree on the album Like the Idea, 1992): The first song on Think Tree's masterpiece (and final record) is a blast of odd techno-rockabilly-punk backing some of the most innovative and twisted lyrics you could ever hope to find. Think Tree, as I've mentioned here before when they've shown up, was a bit too avant-garde for the early, pre-Nirvana 1990s, and that's a shame, because this album is brilliant, and this song sets the tone. Here's just one excellent verse, to give you an idea of Peter Moore's lyrical genius: "Monday A.M. First Thing/And in walked an old crow named Poe/Who smelled like a library book I'd checked out/Some twenty-odd years ago/His dark gray parka sat on him/Like the shell of a crustacean/He had flowers to bring to his wife, Lenore/Back home at the bus station/Then his eyes lit up, he screamed, "My God!"/And dropped the bottle he was nursing,/And said, I was fired from that chair/You're sitting in, four years ago on a/Monday A.M. First Thing!" And that's one of six wild verses in the song. This is a wonderful song to begin this wacky album, and it's a shame that Think Tree disappeared not long afterward. If anyone is interested in this album, let me know and I'll burn you a copy, as it's long out of print. That's how much I dig it!

That's another ten songs in the bank. Will I ever finish my list? Only the blogging gods know for sure!

Great songs, according to me (Part 34)

Hey, I'm back with another ten songs that I think are great! Study them well, for when I am named dictator of the world, there will be a test! Bone up on the previous songs: Parts 1-15, archived, Parts 16-30, archived, Part 31, Part 32, and Part 33. Now, onto the next ten!

331. Little Guitars (by Van Halen on the album Diver Down, 1982): I've mentioned this album before, because it's chock full of cover songs that for some reason get played on the radio and really good original songs (e.g. "The Full Bug") that nobody has ever heard of unless they own the album. This song, for instance, begins with a nice little Spanish guitar intro, and then David Lee and the boys launch into a somewhat sweet song about a sexy senorita. There's actually some nice longing in Roth's vocals as he sings, "I can see you don't know which way to turn but the sun still shines/Don't you know that you can dance with me anytime." Eddie, of course, is in fine form, finishing the song with a bouncy pluck-fest that's pure Van Halen, and it's just a breezy, brilliant tune. So why do radio stations always play their lame cover of "Dancing in the Streets"?

332. Little Suzi (by Tesla on the album Mechanical Resonance, 1986): Tesla isn't a very good band, but they have a few transcendent songs, and this, off their first album, is one of them. It's a simple song with that jangly guitar that metal bands sometimes use to "be more real," and it has your typical "girl looking for fame" lyrics, but for some reason, it works. There's an undercurrent of despair that makes the song, which ostensibly is uplifting, much sadder. On an album (which is probably Tesla's best, not that that's saying much) full of mediocre hair metal, this song stands out. Bizarre.

333. Living With The Big Lie (by Marillion on the album Brave, 1994): Hey, it's a Marillion song! Who would have guessed? This song, the first "real" song on Marillion's "comeback" album (there's a brief prologue song, and this is a comeback because their previous album was probably their worst), is a marvelous tune about a child getting beaten down by the world and learning to indeed live with the big lie. Steve Hogarth has never been the lyricist the band's first singer, Fish, is, but he does a fine job here, painting a picture of innocence and despair, followed by resignation. The song starts quiet as the child sees his home life fall apart, then bursts into a cacophony of screeching noise as the child grows up. The music is suited well to the lyrics, and as it fades, with Hogarth singing "I got used to it," we feel the bleakness in his voice. Sure, it's depressing, but it's still powerful.

334. Looking Through Patient Eyes (by P. M. Dawn on The Bliss Album ...?, 1993): A somewhat upbeat tune (for P. M. Dawn, that is) is next on the list, as Prince Be smoothly raps his way through a love song that, as the title suggests, calls for patience. As with many P. M. Dawn songs, there's a subtle spiritual element to it, and the lyrics are typically weird but still give us a reason to feel hopeful. It's right there in the opening couplet: "Whatever it is I do, I try to think about you, I have a love for you that nothing hides." How sweet. A great song on a wonderful album.

335. Loose! (by Prince on the album Come, 1994): This was Prince's "death of" album, where he burns off songs so that he can get out of his Warner Bros. contract and start recording under his weird sigil. Therefore, many people consider this a pretty poor Prince album, but there are a lot of good songs on this album, with "Loose!" a great example. It's just a raucous rocker, but Prince is so ebullient when he sings that it makes the song better than it should be. Plus, we get a funky and fun guitar solo, part of the thudding beat that drives the song along. It's a song you can't help but dance to. Even Prince's lesser albums are full of great songs!

336. London You're A Lady (by the Pogues on the album Peace And Love, 1989): October 4 was the 25th anniversary of the first Pogues' gig, at a pub in London. Interesting. Anyway, this song, which ends their fourth album, in a fairly typical Pogues ballad, with a rollicking Irish beat and Shane MacGowan's odd nostalgic/bitter lyrics: "Your heart of gold it pulses between your scarred-up thighs." As usual with Pogues songs, part of the allure of the song is in MacGowan's barely intelligible growl, and we really get the sense of a man trolling the dark places of a living city and refusing to get beaten down.

337. Lordy Lord (by Stress on the album Stress, 1991): I have mentioned this short-lived band and their one album before, and this is one of the few songs on it that I consider great (even though I enjoy the album). The psychedelic influences of the band are on full display, with some lush instrumentation, changes in tempo, and a yearning in the lead singer's voice (it might be Wayne Binitie, but I'm not sure) that's tough to fake. It's a cool song on a neat album, one I thought was out of print. However, you can find it on Amazon, if you're interested.

338. Lost Cause (by Beck on the album Sea Change, 2002): Sea Change, the wonderful change of pace by Beck, features a lot of moody, brooding songs, none better than this song, which takes its time moving, but is heartbreaking throughout. The person to whom Beck is singing is indeed a "lost cause," and he's tired of fighting for it. It's more than just a faded love song, though: Beck points out that it's part of where the person lives, part of the society, and that makes it harder to let go. It's a tragic song about misunderstanding love ("No one left to watch your back now ... That's what you thought love was for") and giving up because of it. Beck's beautiful low-key vocals help make the words more powerful, too. He's not sad, just resigned, and that makes the song even sadder.

339. Love (by The Cult on the album Love, 1985): The Cult is such an odd band, as they went from their first two albums (this was their second), which featured some weirdly ethereal music with lots of production, to a stripped-down heavy metal band with Electric in 1987. I like both incarnations, although the metal got old quickly, and wonder why they did it. This album was pretty popular, thanks to "She Sells Sanctuary," but this song is also a very strong track. it actually has a bit of the heavy thump we find on later Cult albums, even though it's a bit drenched in jangly guitars and keyboards. But Ian Astbury does a good job with the simple lyrics, and the chorus is a primal howl, and the song works much better than it probably should. But why the shift in tone?

340. Love Buzz (by Nirvana on the album "Bleach", 1989): I honestly can't remember the last Nirvana song I had on this list, even though I love the band. They just didn't release enough albums, I guess. But this short tune from their first album is great despite the paucity of lyrics - there are only five lines of words in the song, as Cobain repeats the one verse twice and repeats one line for the chorus. However, his slurring delivery, along with his nerdy je ne sais qua that he often has in songs, makes it an interesting song. Of course, the music on this album is somewhat rough, but the talent is certainly there. This is an interesting album not because it's all that good, but because of the potential there, and sometimes, as with this song, we can see why Nirvana exploded a couple of years later.

How about those songs, eh? Let me know if I'm just kooky or if I actually know what I'm talking about!

Great songs, according to me (Part 22)

It's been a while, so I thought I'd continue the Award-Winning Series! I know you can't live without knowing what songs I think are great!

As usual, links to the rest of the list: the archive of parts 1-15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21. Enjoy the selections!

211. Given To Fly (by Pearl Jam on the album Yield, 1998): One of the forgotten classics in Pearl Jam's song list, this song begins with Eddie's standard mumbling, which bugs me a bit, but I forgive it because when he lets loose, there is such power and passion in his voice. The music kicks in just as Eddie screams, "He's flying" and we feel the same way. It's a nice song that matches the feeling of flying with coming back to earth. It's also a nice Christian song without really preaching. I wonder if Eddie wrote it to be a Christian song. He doesn't strike me as one.

212. The Globe (by Big Audio Dynamite on the album The Globe, 1991): BAD never really took off, but this album is a blast of party music with a slight leftist edge, and that ain't bad. This song is the perfect example of the album - bouncy, danceable, a wee bit funky, and easily digestible pseudo-political lyrics that never get in the way of the fun. And it has lung cancer advice, too: "What's the health department got to say? Don't smoke more than fifty fags a day." Mick Jones - always looking out for you!

213. Glory Girl (by Amanda Ghost on the album Ghost Stories, 2000): This is a very good and largely ignored album, by a performer who I haven't heard much from since (but who is apparently working on something new). Ghost has a strong and strangely off-kilter voice (occasionally she lisps, which adds a weird edge to her songs), and on this tune, she shows off its power. She's singing about a lost girl who needs to find her way, and we're never sure if she's talking about herself. The music is nostalgic (in a good way) and Ghost's voice adds a nice touch of melancholy.

214. Go! (by Marillion on the album marillion.com, 1999): Marillion is certainly excellent at these kinds of songs, where the music and vocals start softly and build slowly to a climax. In this song, however, the blast of noise never comes, and the climax is instead soft yet still very powerful. Hogarth sings about never accepting a rut in your life and breaking out into something special, and the final refrain - "Wide awake at the end of the world" - lingers long after the song is over. It's a beautiful song on a very good album.

215. Gold (by 0+> (Prince) on the album The Gold Experience, 1995): This is by far the best Prince album of the 1990s (the concept album with the symbol is good, but not as good as this), partly because Prince drags his guitar out of storage and jams a lot, and partly because of this song, which is his most inspiring anthem since "Purple Rain." It's a song about the illusion of riches and how we have to find real wealth elsewhere and reflects his deepening religious thoughts, but it never gets preachy. The "Hey Jude"-like ending and a final transcendent guitar solo push this song to even greater heights.

216. Gold Dust Woman (by Fleetwood Mac on the album Rumours, 1977): This is a strange little song from Rumours, with Stevie rasping her way through bizarre late-1970s lyrics, but the chorus - "Did she make you cry, make you break down, shatter your illusions of love? Is it over now, do you know how - pick up the pieces and go home" - with Nicks chiding the foolish lover and dismissing him (?) so casually is what gives this song its nasty heart and makes it great. The music is haunting, too, which always helps.

217. The Golden Age (by Beck on the album Sea Change, 2002): Beck's 2002 album begins with this song and signals a complete change (hence the name) from what he has done before. This is a slow, thoughtful song, full of unrequited longing and despair, made more heartbreaking by Beck's tremulous voice. It's a lovely song even though it saddens us. Sea Change is a fantastic album, and this sets the tone for a more mature Beck and a more introspective one.

218. Golden Age (by Midnight Oil on the album Capricornia, 2001): Midnight Oil's last album isn't their best, but it begins with a great song that contrasts the depravity of the world with the promise of freedom and glory and a return to a natural state. It's something that the boys have sung about before, but this song, tinged by a nostalgia that shows their age, is pushed ahead into greatness over other Midnight Oil songs with similar themes.

219. Goldfish & Clowns (by Fish on the album Sunsets On Empire, 1997): A typical Fish song, in that the lyrics occasionally verge on the far-too-obscure before hitting us with a few lines that make it all worth it, while the music propels us along and changes up on us, just to keep us on our toes. It feels like a hopeful song, but as usual, Fish subverts our ears by slipping in just enough doubt to keep us from feeling completely uplifted. He's very good at that, and it keeps this song from falling into cheap sentimentality (which, unfortunately, when he's not on, he sometimes does). A nice song that is made great by its uncertainty about love and life.

220. Go'n Breakdown (by Suicidal Tendencies on the album Lights ... Camera ... Revolution, 1990): This song is just a nice piledriver of metal and mayhem. From the crunch of the opening guitars to the whine of the solos, we're never let down at all. Mike Muir's lyrics and the way he spits them makes this even more fun: "Went to school at U. of Hell, favorite course was kill and tell/Graduated head of class, majored in kickin' ass/Did hard time to get my Master, wrote the book on personal disaster/I don't need no PhD to be a doctor of fuckin' misery!" Sure, it's ridiculously violent, but it's a cartoon, and Muir never takes himself too seriously. A crazy ride to end the album, and a great song.

Yes, that's it for this time. Your insults are welcome!