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 38)

Yes, I keep on truckin' with the great songs, according to me! You can't stop me! Let's link to the previous installments, and then get to it: Parts 1-15, Parts 16-30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, and Part 37. And now ... ten more songs!

371. My Lovin' (You're Never Gonna Get It) (by En Vogue on the album Funky Divas, 1992): This album is very good, thanks to strong tunes like this, a great pop single that feels older and more classic than it actually is. The ladies of En Vogue cruise nastily through the song, kissing off their potential mates who don't respect them, and the doo-wop bit at the end is amazing. They often blended well in their songs, but rarely did they do it better than on this, as they flipped back and forth throughout, creating a rich tapestry of vocals. Plus, it's a funky little groove.

372. My Name Is Prince (by Prince on the album that has the weird symbol thing as a name, 1992): This album marked the end, really, of Prince's dominance of the charts. It had a few singles that charted, but after Diamonds and Pearls, Prince kind of fell off the pop culture map. Which is a shame, because this weird concept album and The Gold Experience (1995) are two of the better albums Prince has in his catalogue, and this song kicks it all off. It's a hard-rocking dance tune with a shocking change for the Purple One, in that he raps. Plus, he has a "guest rapper" as well. It's a celebratory song about himself, of course, but it's musically amazing, somewhat coarse (I know, another shock), and quite fun. Prince takes a nice shot at Michael Jackson along the way, too. It shows what Prince can do both sonically (the guitar is astonishing) and lyrically (he mixes God in, as usual, and manages to to be spiritual and profane, often in the same verse). It's too bad Prince is known only for the stuff he did in the 1980s, because the Nineties were a marvelous decade creatively for him.

373. Mysterious Ways (by U2 on the album Achtung Baby, 1991): Do I really need to write about how great this song is? This was the first U2 album I bought (I liked The Joshua Tree, but never bought it, and then Krys had it when we got together, so that took care of that), and it was partly because of this song. It's got that great funky vibe and those great lyrics ("If you want to kiss the sky, better learn how to kneel"), and it just gets inside you and twists you around. U2 was never better than this album (and yes, I do like The Joshua Tree), and "Mysterious Ways" is a big reason why.

374. The Name Of The Game (by ABBA on the album The Album, 1977): This is a lesser-known ABBA song, but it's still a great one. It reflects the latter-day ABBA in that the sad songs are a bit sadder than earlier in their career (1974-75), where they were more likely to sing songs about breaking up with a snarky attitude. This is the work of more mature songwriters, as the music is weightier than earlier songs, and the lyrics show a more jaundiced view toward relations between lovers: "And you make me talk/And you make me feel/And you make me show/What I'm trying to conceal/If I trust in you/Would you let me down/Would you laugh at me/If I said I care for you/Could you feel the same way too/I wanna know the name of the game." The music begins with a dark, jazzy groove, and then soars along with Agnetha and Frida's despairing harmonizing. It's just another marvelous song from everyone's favorite Swedish supergroup.

375. Nashville (by Indigo Girls on the album Rites Of Passage, 1992): As you may know, I'm not a huge fan of country music, but the Indigo Girls are more folksy, so when they write a song about Nashville, it transcends genre and becomes a great song. Musically, the song is nothing special (jangly, twangy guitars - you know what it sounds like!), but Amy's scratchy vocals and the lyrics about the way the town seduces you and then betrays you makes this a great tune. It's a song of failure, which is unusual, as we usually get a defiant tone from the singer unless it's a love song. The singer in "Nashville" has been defeated, and it lends a certain gravitas to the song and makes it much more interesting.

376. Nervous Breakthrough (by Luscious Jackson on the album Electric Honey, 1999): This is the first track off of this album, and I absolutely love it. It's too bad it's the first track, because there's no place to go but down (although "Ladyfingers," the second track, is almost as good, and then there's an unfortunate drop in quality). "Nervous Breakthrough" begins with a funky street scene sound, with a whirring beat that draws you slowly into the song. Then the horns start, and so do the vocals: "Sometimes somebody can bring you down so far, below anywhere you've gone ..." The lyrics are stellar, reminding us that "all the best things make you nervous, and all the best things come in disguise." Throughout, the beat keeps things breezy, providing a groovy foundation for a hopeful song. It's a pop song, sure, but an excellent one.

377. Never A Time (by Genesis on the album We Can't Dance, 1991): A fine love song on the "last" Genesis album (the 1995 one doesn't count), this song is somewhat like the schlockiest of the Phil Collins love songs, but Collins, whenever he's with the band, seems to rein in his mawkish tendencies and actually write good love songs, and this is one of them. The music is typical - lush Tony Banks string arrangements, smooth jazzy Mike Rutherford guitar - but Phil manages to sing the fine lyrics earnestly, not with a wink (the problem with many of his solo tunes), and we believe him when he says, "It's a long long way to fall when we both thought we had it all ..." This is an excellent example of a return to form for Genesis on this album after the overwrought Invisible Touch.

378. Never Satisfied (by Living Colour on the album Stain, 1993): This might be Living Colour's best album, but it was their poorest-selling and last for a decade, which is a shame. It gets them back to a hard-rock edge after Time's Up (which is a good album, but somehow off), and this song exemplifies that kind of vibe. Corey Glover snarls the lyrics, and the chorus is a celebration of nastiness: "I will never be satisfied until it ends it tears." But it's also a sad song, as Glover is despairing his awful lot in life. Meanwhile, Vernon Reid's guitar brings the right amount of fuzz and crunch to the song. It's a great song on a very good album. Too bad it didn't sell!

379. Neverland (by Marillion on the album Marbles, 2004): I can't seem to make it through one of these lists without a Marillion song, so I apologize for that. I just love them so much! This is the most recent great song I have on this list, because I made this list back in 2004 and haven't had a chance to update it yet. It's the final song on this double album, and it begins with a beautiful piano introduction and musically rises to a stellar guitar solo and then back down to a quiet ending. Lyrically is where the song shines, though, as Steve Hogarth tells a gorgeous love story about being a better person because of someone else's love: "At times like these, any fool can see your love inside me." He winds his way through a Peter Pan metaphor and ends triumphantly. It's the kind of song that is great on its own, but its position on the album makes it even better.

380. Next To You (by The Police on the album Outlandos D'Amour, 1978): I'm not the biggest Police fan, but their first album is pretty darned good, and this, the first song, sets a great tone. It's a love song, sure, but it has a good snotty punk vibe to it, and Sting has yet to become the pompous pretentious blowhard he later became. It's not a terribly important song, but for just under 3 minutes, you get a pure piece of music, and there's nothing wrong with that!

I know I am posting these a bit more slowly than I used to, but I hope nobody minds. Considering my tiny audience, I don't think there will be much of an uproar. But as usual, if you want to tell me how very wrong I am, feel free! I can take it!

Great songs, according to me (Part 37)

It's been well over two months since I posted another ten songs I think are great. I know you've been waiting for the next one! I do like posting these, but things just get in the way. Before we get to the list, let's point you to the other lists:
Parts 1-15, Parts 16-30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, and Part 36.

Let's look at the next ten!

361. Monkey Wrench (by Foo Fighters on the album The Colour And The Shape, 1997): Tom loves this album, and I can't say I disagree with him, except for maybe the extent of how superb it is. This song, which should probably be paired with "Doll," the first, rather short prelude to the album, kicks so much ass I can't believe I first heard it on an episode of Beverly Hills 90210. Yes, I really did. The pounding music is straight-forward, grab-your-collar-and-shake-you rock, and Grohl's sneering lyrics make the song a perfect kiss-off to a manipulative significant other. When the song builds to Grohl's primal scream of rage, we've crossed into rock-and-roll greatness. Scream it with me: "One last thing before I quit I never wanted any more than I could fit into my head I still remember every single word you said and all the shit that somehow went along with it still there's one thing that comforts me since I was always caged but now I'm freeeeeee ..." Chills, I tell you, I get chills.

362. A Month Of Sundays (by Don Henley on the album Building The Perfect Beast, 1984): I'm not a huge Henley fan, but this is a pretty decent album, punctuated by a few great songs. "A Month of Sundays" is a sad song about farmers and how modern life sucks, something I have usually have no patience for, but Henley's smooth California drawl manages to make it work. It romanticizes the plight of the American farmer, sure, but it stays just on the non-mawkish side of sentimentality, and so it works. Henley sells it, too, as we believe he's a put-upon old farmer rather than a spoiled rich rock star. That's always helpful. This album, unfortunately, gave us "All She Wants To Do Is Dance," but it also gave us this song, so that's a nice thing.

363. More Fool Me (by Genesis on the album Selling England By The Pound, 1973): People tend to forget that Genesis with Peter Gabriel could crank out some excellent love songs, and this is one of them (although it's Phil on lead vocals). This is a quiet song with that quirky folksy style that a lot of early Genesis has, and the lyrics are extremely bittersweet: "The day you left, I think you knew you'd not be back; well at least it would seem that way because you never said goodbye." It's a sad song full of irony, as it ends with Phil singing, "Yes, I'm sure it will work out all right."

364. Mr. Integrity (by L7 on the album Bricks Are Heavy, 1992): I'm not a big fan of this album, but a few of the tracks rock, and this is one of them. The chorus, "Don't preach to me, Mr. Integrity," is simple and effective, and Donita and the gang scorch their way through a truly venomous song about posers. I rarely listen to this album anymore, but I really dig this song.

365. Mr. Self Destruct (by Nine Inch Nails on the album The Downward Spiral, 1994): Ah, Trent. Always ready with the depressing music! In this song, the first track off what is probably his masterpiece, he brings the creepiness with aplomb: "I am the sex that you provide (and I control you)/I am the hate you try to hide (and I control you)." The hypnotic repetition of the "I am ..." theme could become annoying, but Trent's reptilian vocals never allow that, and the fuzzy music ensures that we pay attention to the lyrics. Trent can often slide to easily into self-pity and self-loathing, but this song rises above that and drills right into our brain. Good stuff.

366. Muhammad My Friend (by Tori Amos on the album Boys For Pele, 1996): If you check out the lyrics to this song, they're somewhat strange. I'm not sure why I think it's so great. The music is strong, as Tori shifts from a quiet ballad to an approximation of a volcano erupting (with her piano, which is quite a feat). I love the "chorus": "Muhammad my friend, it's time to tell the world; we both know it was a girl, back in Bethlehem." The lyrics get weird after that, and I'm not sure I understand them, but it seems like Tori is wondering why we crave religion when nature is so religious in the first place. I don't know who Muhammad is, though. Oh, my brain hurts. I don't know, I just love this song. So sue me.

367. The Musical Box (by Genesis on the album Nursery Cryme, 1971): Man, I love this song. It runs over ten minutes, but it's so tight musically that it seems to fly by. As it's early 1970s Genesis, it has a weird, almost jazzy psychedelic buzz to it, but you can hear the boys beginning to move past that 1960s crap (really, did we need another psychedelic band?) and into the sprawling epics that they are known for. This is a riff on an old Victorian story which is rather creepy, telling of a boy who ages rapidly and can't express his love/lust for the girl who killed him. Yes, it's weird. I just love the way Gabriel uses his voice as an extra instrument, creating moods of sadness, weariness, lust, and finally desperation. The songs ends wonderfully in a frenzy of desire: "Why don't you touch me, touch me, touch me, touch me now, now, now, now ..." It's astonishing to listen to.

368. Musicology (by Prince on the album Musicology, 2004): One of the more recent songs on this list (and yes, I need to add more, because it's been over three years since I made this list, and I've gotten some new music since then that would qualify, but for now, pretend it's 2005!), this song and album marked a return to form a bit for Prince after his bizarre Jehovah's Witness jazz fusion album, The Rainbow Children (man, that's a weird platter). I'm not one of those people who thinks that Prince dropped off the face of the earth after Batman in 1989 and then resurfaced in 2004, and this album is no better than, say, Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic, but this song gets things off to a rousing start. The lyrics are inconsequential, because as with much of Prince, it's all about the groove, and he does a great job with that. Ostensibly, this is a paean to old-school jams, but it's just an excuse for Prince to get you moving. And, like Norah says, you must "Shake your booty" when Prince fires up this song. Good stuff from the master.¹

369. Muzzle (by Smashing Pumpkins on the album Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness, 1995): Billy Corgan often whines a lot, but here, it helps him. The lyrics of this song are powerful and speak of loss and a sense of disconnect from the world around you, and too often that's just annoying. It could be with Corgan, as well, but somehow his whiny tones become deeper, helped by the richness of the music, which builds steadily throughout the song. When Corgan gets to the payoff at the end, he's earned it, because he's come back around: "And the world, so hard to understand, is the world you can't live without." And the thudding bass and drums take us out.

370. My Country (by Midnight Oil on the album Earth And Sun And Moon, 1993): The finest Midnight Oil album contains many excellent songs, and this is one of them. It launches with a piano/guitar intro that drives us into Garrett's lyrics, which speak of blind patriotism and the foolishness that comes along with it. It's interesting to consider that Garrett loves Australia without thinking there are no warts to its history. This song encapsulates that, to a degree, and all he asks for is the truth. It's a powerful song on a great album.

Well, that's another ten songs in the books. I will try not to wait almost three months for the next ten. (Yes, I'm aware that most people don't miss these posts, but I like them!)

¹ Norah actually says this. Krys taught it to her. Now Mia has picked it up. See what my wife is doing to the kids? She's turning them into booty-shaking weirdos. Sigh.

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 35)

It's another list of ten songs I happen to think are great. And we know that I am the arbiter of all that is great!

Check out the previous posts: the archive of Parts 1-15, Parts 16-30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, and Part 34. And now here's the next group!

341. Love Removal Machine (by The Cult on the album Electric, 1987): This song is probably the high point of The Cult's first "hard rock" album, although there are other good songs. This song rises above partly because the hard-driving music is so strong, but also because Ian Astbury liked what he did on this song so much he ripped himself off in later songs! This established the Cult "formula" for the next few albums, and when Astbury sings, "Baby baby baby baby baby I fell from the sky" to start the second verse, it's a triumphant moment in the history of metal. Yes, I just wrote that! Deny it at your peril!

342. Love 2 The 9's (by Prince on the "symbol" album, 1992): Prince is pretty frisky on this album, and he gets even more so on this song, which features a nice jumpy beat that slides into a sleazier groove as the lyrics get dirtier. The early part of the song is even a bit transcendent, as Prince sings, "This is the only kind of love that I've been dreaming of, the kind of love that takes over your body, mind, and soul." Then he gets down a bit, yearning for a "lover with a body that says some mo'" and that he's looking for an "ass piled high and deep you see." Yes, Prince can pile on the raunch as much as anyone. The "questionnaire" section of the song, where an associate of Prince's interviews "Arabia" to see if she can "make that booty boom" is very funny, and Prince winds up the song with, really, a paean to spiritual love, if you can believe it. The great thing about Prince's songs is that we actually believe he's looking for a soul mate even when he wants a girl who can make the booty boom. That's his genius!

343. Love You 'Till The End (by the Pogues on the album Pogue Mahone, 1995): The final Pogues albums has some very good songs, none better than this ballad that is simply about what it says in the title. There's a simple yet effective mandolin/guitar riff, and Spider Stacy sings with emotion and love. The lyrics, like the music, are simple but powerful when sung with the right attitude, and they speak to a deep love that cannot be denied: "Why don't you just take me where I've never been before; I know you want to hear me catch my breath." It's a beautiful song and makes you feel happy to be alive.

344. Love's Recovery (by the Indigo Girls on the album Indigo Girls, 1989): I like this song so much we played it at our wedding. It's a quiet love song, building to a triumphant climax, and it speaks to those who refuse to accept love they find right in front of them. The bridge is a powerful cry for non-conformity, and then the final verse arrives at the victory of the heart: "Tell all the friends who think they're so together that these are ghosts and mirages all these thoughts of fairer weather. Though it's storming out, I feel safe within the arm of love's discovery." The Indigo Girls have written a lot of love songs, but none as good as this.

345. The Luckiest Guy On The Lower East Side (by the Magnetic Fields on the album 69 Love Songs (vol. 1), 1999): There are many great songs on 69 Love Songs (as you may know, if you've read these posts before), and although this is a bit corny, it still has a wonderful goofiness that makes it so very memorable. It has a nice, bouncy melody that has a weird tinny organ-grinder sound to it, and Stephen Merritt's vaudevillian lyrics add to the fun: he's the luckiest guy because he has "wheels," and the girl, who is admired by many men better than he, wants to go for a ride. Of course, at the end, we learn he only keeps the "heap" for that reason. It's a love song, sure, and plenty of fun at that.

346. Mama (by Genesis on the album Genesis, 1983): Genesis was the first album I bought on my own with my "own" money, back when I was 12 (I didn't have a job, so it wasn't really mine, but I didn't ask my mother to buy it for me). Yes, I was a bit late in getting into music, but that's just the way it is. I owned a few albums prior to this on, but this cassette really had a huge impact on me and shaped a lot of what I like about music. This isn't the greatest Genesis album, but "Mama" is brilliant, beginning the album with that haunting keyboards that Phil would use on some of his own songs, and then the creepy lyrics: "I can't see you mama, but I know you're always there ..." As the song builds, suddenly we get the stop and the terrifying laughs and the thumping drums. The best part of the song is when Phil gets a bit wistful in the middle section, singing "You're taking away my last chance, don't take it away ..." 24 years after I heard it for the first time, this still has a powerful effect on me. And then I heard "Illegal Alien." Sigh. I guess they can't all be great!

347. Mama Said Knock You Out (by LL Cool J on the album Mama Said Knock You Out, 1990): Man, I love this album, and the title track. We get the grooving beat and the chanting in the background, then the broadcaster announcing Cool J's "triumphant comeback" before L himself steps on his words with "Don't call it a comeback, I been here for years!" Then we get an overwhelmingly bad-ass celebration of LL's awesomeness, delivered with hard snarls and over-the-top exaggeration. All the lyrics and the delivery are great, especially when LL sneers, "Just like Muhammed Ali they called him Cassius," as he draws out the "a" in "Cassius." Watch him bash that beat like a skull, indeed, LL. What a great song.

348. Mamma Mia (by ABBA on the album ABBA, 1975): Yes, it's the basis for a musical that has taken over the world, but don't hold it against the song, which is a great early tune from the Swedish quartet. We get a peppery keyboard and a rolling guitar, and the ladies start singing a somewhat poignant song about failing to ditch someone who's bad for them. "Even if I say leave me now or never, it's a game we play, doesn't mean forever" they sing in the chorus, and although they stay light-hearted in tone, the lyrics and a subtle shift in their voices speak to the sadness behind the "game." It's a deeper song than people expect - much like a lot of ABBA songs!

349. Man Of A Thousand Faces (by Marillion on the album This Strange Engine, 1997): The first song on this uneven album is very strong, with an acoustic beginning that builds slowly to a swirling finish. It's a song about a universal presence, a man who is behind the scenes at every great event in human history: "You see my face in the stones of the Parthenon, you hear my voice in the babble of Babylon." Hogarth is in good form here, triumphant when he's boasting and cajoling, but able to shift to a more soothing voice when he "speak[s] to machines with the voice of humanity." It's the best song on the album, and sets a nice tone.

350. Many Too Many (by Genesis on the album ... And Then There Were Three, 1978): This is from an album before Genesis became a supergroup, so Phil isn't obnoxious yet and the band's progressive roots haven't been lost in a grasp for chart success. This ballad is a quiet song that takes you along slowly but surely, and when Phil gets to the chorus, he adds a plaintive cry for freedom from the romantic snare in which he's caught. When he sums up the relationship with "You set me on a firmly laid and simple course, and then removed the road," we know we're listening to a great song, and not a 1980s Collins schmaltz-fest. It's a shame that he decided that dollars were more important than dignity. Oh well.

Another nice list of great songs. Music is groovy!

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 33)

It's another fun list of ten songs that I, with my impeccable taste in music, consider great. I'm the arbiter of all that is excellent!

Here are the previous entries in my saga: The archive of Parts 1-15, the archive of Parts 16-30, Part 31, and Part 32.

321. The Last Mile (by Cinderella on the album Long Cold Winter, 1988): I've mentioned my love of Cinderella before, and this song is a good reason why I dig 'em. Solid guitar work, not flashy like a lot of hair metal, and your fairly typical lyrics, but Tom Keifer does his usual excellent job making us believe that he's lived it, man. "I guess I've always been a travelin' man, 'cause when I'm movin' I can make a stand," sings Tom, and it just feels like the years have been unkind to him, but he keeps getting up and moving on. Cinderella has always been a blues band disguised as hair metal, and this song straddles the line.

322. The Last to Know (by Asia on the album Alpha, 1983): Asia, with its keyboard-drenched music and its bland lyrics, was a prog band without, you know, the long songs or interesting lyrics. They were completely inoffensive and a mild success, but they've never gone away, probably because they came to prominence right at the cusp of the MTV explosion and are remembered fondly by Generation Xers, so there will always be a place for them on VH-1's panoply of pop culture programs. I'm being unduly harsh, maybe, because I actually like them, and this song is actually, you know, great. It features the overabundance of keyboards, sure, but it also features heartfelt lyrics and a forlorn sound. It's rare to hear an Asia song that hasn't had the emotion overmixed right out of it, but this one hasn't. And that makes it far better than most Asia songs.

323. Laura (by Billy Joel on the album The Nylon Curtain, 1982): Coming as it does at the height of Billy Joel's "rock" phase, this song confounds us by sounding like, well, the Beatles. Except much more bitter. Billy has the quirky Beatles musical vibe down, with the heavy lower octaves on the piano contrasting nicely with the melody, and his evisceration of both the title girl and his own inadequacies in the lyrics is brilliant. It's the self-loathing that makes this such a wonderful song. Billy's narrator bashes Laura and understands that he's "her machine," but he can't let go, and ends the song with the hilariously nasty "She always says I'm the best friend that she's ever had; How do you hang up on someone who needs you that bad?" Laura, of course, doesn't need him at all, and the worse thing is - he knows it. What a classic. This is also, I believe, the first time I ever heard the word "fuck" in a song. It came out when I was 11 and a few friends were big fans of Joel (I didn't get the album until years later). Yes, I was a bit sheltered. I was surprised that Joel said the word, and the line is so very venomous, much like the rest of the song.

324. Leash (by Pearl Jam on the album Vs., 1993): Speaking of angry songs, Eddie Vedder writes some very good "angry youth" songs, and this is one of his best. The lyrics aren't great, but the powerful music drives the song toward its triumphant and bitter chorus: "Drop the leash, get outta my fuckin' face." Eddie celebrates youth not by indulging in sex and drugs (although I'm sure there was plenty of that in Pearl Jam back in the day), but by trying to get young people to stand up for themselves. Power to the people, Eddie! These days, of course, I want to oppress everyone under 30, but it's still a great song.

325. Leave (by R.E.M. on the album New Adventures In Hi-Fi, 1996): This underappreciated classic album (Automatic For The People? Blah!) reaches that status thanks to songs like this, with its weird music (I'm not sure what that instrument is running throughout the song) and Michael Stipe's haunting lyrics that speak of heartache and an inability to, as he wants, "leave." Stipe's usual whining is tempered a bit by the lyrics, which demands a bit of the heartsickness that he brings to almost every song he sings. Sometimes it works better than others, and in this one, it works very well.

326. Let's Go Crazy (by Prince and the Revolution on the album Purple Rain, 1984): If you don't like this song, I seriously doubt you like music at all. Prince begins his masterpiece album with the declaration of faith that ends with him telling us that "in this life, things are much harder than in the afterworld ... in this life, you're on your own!" Then he launches into the wonderfully bouncy rock and the bizarre lyrics that really don't work out of context, but with the unbridled enthusiasm of Billy Mumfrey (sorry - lame Seinfeld reference there) that marks so much of Prince's early work. And then the transcendent guitar solo kicks in, and we're swept away, not only with this song, but with the rest of the excellent album. It's a great song on its own, but it's also a perfect way to get us into the rest of the songs. Man, I love this tune.

327. Let's Pretend We're Married (by Prince and the Revolution on the album 1999, 1982): Meanwhile, Prince was making some good music before Purple Rain, too. This song is a fairly typical early tune, but Prince's unbelievably raunchy lyrics elevates it above many of the others on the album. One of the great lines in music history comes from this song: "I'm not sayin' this just to be nasty - I sincerely want to fuck the taste out of your mouth." And, of course, Prince talks about how great God is just after that. What a goofy guy!

328. Life Going By (by King's X on the album Ear Candy, 1996): This is the final track of this very good album, and it's a perfect example of a King's X ballad. There's a breezy, nostalgic kind of vibe to the music, and the lyrics are heartfelt and wistful, and ultimately hopeful: "And I've sat there in awe and I've seen myself fall and I've felt the full light of the day." It makes you sit and appreciate all the little things in life, and that's a nice feeling.

329. A Lifetime (by P. M. Dawn on the album Jesus Wept, 1995): As usual with a P. M. Dawn song, we have a nice folksy kind of musical vibe blended with a funky beat, and somewhat incomprehensible lyrics. Prince Be sells it well, however, with his smooth vocals and his plaintive yearning, especially when he gets to the end: "What's a lifetime, if you love me? For a lifetime, you said you'd love me" and the song slowly winds down. It's ultimately a sad song, but it's still something that makes you sing along.

330. Like It Or Not (by Genesis on the album Abacab, 1981): There are a lot of good songs on Abacab, and usually this song, which comes toward the end, gets overlooked. It's a very nice song, however, with Phil pulling back on the schmaltz that gets him in trouble with some of his solo work. His vocals start soft, with nice lines like "I feel a little cold in the air, and you're not anywhere, you're just another face I used to know," and then he slowly builds in intensity, along with the music, until he reaches a powerful climax: "It's been a long, been a long, long time, since I held anybody, since I held anyone ..." Phil can sing with sincerity when he wants to, and this time he does, and the song is elevated to greatness because of it.

Well, that's another ten songs in the book. I'm about halfway through my list! At this rate, I'll get done by 2011 or so!

Great songs, according to me (Part 32)

It's been quite a while since I've done one of these. I know you all missed them. Anyway, before we begin, links: Parts 1-15 archive. Parts 16-30 archive. Part 31.

Now for the next ten on the list!

311. Kiss (by Prince and the Revolution on the album Parade, 1986): I don't mind that cover with Tom Jones that came out a few years after this, but the original is the best. Prince has that great falsetto, which makes the song, which has relatively innocuous lyrics, sound really dirty. The lyrics are great, too, with Prince explaining why his woman should have more going on than her looks and wealth, yet still managing to be snarky. Add that great jangly guitar and you have a classic pop song.

312. Kisses of Fire (by ABBA on the album Voulez-Vous, 1979): Voulez-Vous is ABBA's disco album (their only one, even though a lot of people think of them as a disco band), and this song is a disco masterpiece. It begins quietly, with Agnetha singing, "Lay your head on my chest so you hear every beat of my heart" and quickly builds to a crescendo with the chorus: "Kisses of fire, burning, burning; I'm at the point of no returning," which inexplicably builds even more as the chorus continues: "I've had my share of love affairs but they were nothing compared to this; I'm riding higher than the sky and there is fire in every kiss." The music is typical disco, but Agnetha's soaring vocals, which speak of the triumph of passion, make this a joyous and almost bubbly song, and lifts it above your normal disco fare.

313. Knock Me Down (by the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the album Mother's Milk, 1989): Mother's Milk is by far the best Chili Peppers album (speak not to me of BloodSugarSexMagik!), even though I haven't bought any of their albums in the past ten years. I just don't see how any of them can top this, and this song is a big reason why. I assume it's about Anthony's and the band's heroin addiction, but it transcends that and become a universal song about needing love and never allowing yourself to be too distant for it. Flea's bass carries the song, obviously, but John's guitars early on keep it light and almost ethereal, and when Anthony gets to the chorus, we hear the pain in his voice when he sings, "If you see me getting mighty, if you see me getting high, knock me down ... I'm not bigger than life." The ending lyric is powerful, too: "It's so lonely when you don't even know yourself." The Peppers have made good music since this album, but not often.

314. Knowing Me, Knowing You (by ABBA on the album Arrival, 1976): When most people think of ABBA, they think of "Dancing Queen" or this song. I've never been a huge fan of the former (it did not make this list, for example), but this song is a powerful song of a relationship ending. Frida, who usually handles the ABBA songs with a bit more emotional heft to them, brings her somewhat husky alto to the haunting lyrics, and when she gets to the wonderful chorus, we feel as if we're breaking up ourselves. It's a beautiful yet depressing song, and both the lyrics and the heavy music sell it well.

315. LA (by Elliot Smith on the album Figure 8, 2000): It's hard to pick out Elliot Smith songs because they all sound so similar, but the ones I really like differ from the norm just enough to raise them up. This song, with its slightly suicidal theme (suicide, of course, has become more evident in Smith's songs after his own suicide), stays on course lyrically, but what pushes it to greatness is the slightly harder edge on the music, especially when Smith growls the chorus: "Last night I was about to throw it all away." There's a menace to the music that contradicts the melancholy lyrics, as if Smith wasn't going to "throw it all away" because he was going to kill himself, but because he was going to do damage to others. It's this ambiguity that makes the song great.

316. Lady Let it Lie (by Fish on the album Suits, 1994): Fish is quite good at these mini-story songs, with good lyrics and a bit of sentiment. He's at his best when he doesn't get overly sentimental, and in this song, in which he sings of a woman trying to escape a ragged childhood and an unpleasant life, strikes the perfect balance. The song's solid if unspectacular musical backing holds up Fish's strong lyrics: "It's hard putting down family roots when you're living in a mobile home, but there's always blood even in a rolling stone," he sings, and sums up the relationship with his lady thusly: "But surely there's something left, something worth fighting for ... Maybe we can start again, maybe give it one more try; or do we just walk away, maybe let it fade and die." As Fish has gotten older, he's become more desperate in his songs to make a relationship work despite the odds, and this is a very nice example of that kind of thinking.

317. Ladyfingers (by Luscious Jackson on the album Electric Honey, 1999): This is a nice, lush song with a slightly jazzy groove that lifts you up with fine, cheerful lyrics. It has a great couplet, "I'm so tired of my guns and my vanity, I'd like to trade them in for some sanity," that calls for understanding and love. It's a song that wants to believe in something more and almost achieves it. Despite a tinge of sadness, it soars above the banality of mediocrity. This is Luscious Jackson's last album, and it's a good one, thanks to great songs like this.

318. Last (by Nine Inch Nails on the album Broken, 1992): Trent's nasty little EP from 1992 has some great songs, and this one stands out. It begins with a great grinding guitar, and then Trent comes in with his typically snide tone, howling as if he's in great pain. The chorus adds a nice revving sound that complements the lyrics beautifully, and then Trent growls, "This isn't meant to last, this is for right now" to end the song. Trent is quite excellent at baring his soul, and when he shrieks, "My lips may promise but my heart is a whore," you know you're in the presence of genius.

319. Last Call (by the Popes on the album Holloway Boulevard, 2000): Holloway Boulevard isn't a great album, but it's a lot of fun in some ways. This song, a rousing call for dancing and drinking, is great because it just celebrates good times. It also, however, has a slight tinge of sadness, because it is, after all, the "last chance for a dance, last call for alcohol." Oh, the sadness of the last call!

320. The Last Day of Our Acquaintance (by Sinéad O'Connor on the album I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, 1990): This might be O'Connor's best song. It's absolutely brilliant. We begin with a whisper, as O'Connor sings, "This is the last day of our acquaintance/I will meet you later in somebody's office/I'll talk but you won't listen to me/I know what your answer will be." We slowly gain in volume and strength, as O'Connor outlines the way the affair has gone, including the excellent line, "You used to hold my hand when the plane took off," a beautiful and telling lyric (and I always hold my wife's hand when the plane takes off!). As she loops back around to the first verse, the song suddenly explodes into powerful acoustic guitar and O'Connor's voice shifts from pain and regret to anger, and the song becomes even better. It's an astonishing song, and I love listening to it.

And there you have it. Ten more great songs, ten more ways to lose yourself in sonic goodness. Let me know what a fool I am for loving these tunes!

Great songs, according to me (Part 31)

Yes, we're into the third group of 15! I love writing these posts, even though no one likes reading them. But I soldier on!

Here is an archive of the first 15 parts. Here is an archive of the second 15 parts. Now, onward!

I've mentioned this before, but doing these in alphabetical order means you get some weird synchronicity. Therefore, I have three songs by my favorite band on this list, two songs by one of my favorite bands, and a song by the ex-lead singer of my favorite band. Sorry - that's just the way it goes!

301. Jerusalem (by Sinéad O'Connor on the album The Lion and the Cobra, 1987): One would think this would be a soothing song, but it's really not, as O'Connor turns her rasping angry voice on lyrics that sear you with their ragged honesty. This is a woman broken down by the system, and O'Connor makes us feel every nerve. The music twists its way through the song, simultaneously exotic and simple. There are a lot of great songs on this album, and this is definitely one of them.

302. Jesus Christ Pose (by Soundgarden on the album Badmotorfinger, 1991): This is one of my five favorite Soundgarden songs, because Cornell's screech is just so perfect and the lyrics are so devastatingly cool. "And I swear to you I would never feed your pain, but you're staring at me like I'm driving the nails." Excellent stuff. The boys in the band up the ante with the the hard-driving beat and wailing guitars, too, and everything keeps building in intensity. It's a wonderfully nasty song about martyrdom and self-righteousness. Those are always good to hear!

303. Jigsaw (by Marillion on the album Fugazi, 1984): This is one of a handful of great love songs that Marillion has written over the years (their best is a few songs down, but this might be second-best), and it never fails to give me a good gut-wrenching. Fish's lyrics are odd but not impenetrable, like a lot of songs on this album, and the music is both uplifting and depressing, which is a neat trick. The chorus is wonderful, too, and toward the end, when Fish sings, "We reached ignition point from the sparks of pleasantry; we sensed the smoke advancing from horizons. You must have known that I was considering an escape" before busting into the chorus: "Stand straight, look me in the eye and say goodbye; stand straight, we've drifted past the point of reasons why," it's a magical moment. A great, great song.

304. Johnny Q (by the Crazy 8s on the album Still Crazy After All These Beers 1984-1993, 1998): The Crazy 8s were a Portland band for a decade, and when they released this greatest hits album, I picked it up. They're kind of ska punk, as was trendy back in the day, but they have a harder edge than some of the bands who actually hit it big with that sound. Most of all, they're a fun band, the kind of group I would have loved to see live. This is their best song, probably (it's certainly the best one on the greatest hits album), with its excellent beat, insightful lyrics about everyday living, and great horn section. Mike Sterling likes the Crazy 8s, and that should be enough for you! You can get the reissue of their first album on Amazon. You can get the greatest hits album, too, but it's 50 bucks. Gadzooks!

305. Junkie (by James on the album Pleased to Meet You, 2001): The last* James album has some very excellent songs on it, and this is one of them. It's like a lot of James songs, in that Tim Booth's lazy and nasal singing style helps the lyrics greatly, and the sly music gets under your skin. The lyrics are a big part of why the song is great, as Booth sings of all the things that addict us, making sure we don't get too big for our britches. When he gets to the end, singing "Everyone's a junkie" as the fuzzy music plays behind him, it completes a wonderful statement on our materialistic society.

* Although, apparently they're back together. Excellent news, that. I can't wait for the new album.

306. Just Good Friends (Close) (by Fish on the album Internal Exile, 1991): This is the kind of song Fish does really well - it's a sentimental tune with strong, major-chord music and wistful lyrics about something that has been lost. That doesn't make it any less great, but it does mean that Fish does these extremely well. It's a song about two people, one of whom wonders if he should declare his love for a girl with whom he's been friends for years. It's a universal problem, and Fish makes it personal for all who hear it. He doesn't get too maudlin with his vocals, either, which helps, because lyrics like "So are we left to chance meetings, is that all we can depend on?" are sad on their own, and don't need him sounding self-pitying. The balance he strikes is why this is a great song.

307. Just Like Fred Astaire (by James on the album Millionaires, 1999): It's odd to hear such a transcendent love song from a band like James (or any band, for that matter) that isn't slow and syrupy. This song isn't a stripped-down, quiet affair about how much some guy loves his girl, it's a celebration of love, a celebration of being happy with that perfect person, and how glorious, rapturous love can survive in the modern world. The lyric "'Cause when I hold her in my arms, I feel like Fred Astaire" sums up the song beautifully, speaking of a Hollywood romance that we can all experience, if we believe in it enough.

308. Just Say (by the Fastbacks on the Hype! motion picture soundtrack, 1996): This is a very good soundtrack to a very interesting documentary about the Seattle music scene in the early 1990s, and I love the two Fastbacks songs on the album. In two-and-a-half minutes of pure pop, this song is a devastating look at a relationship gone wrong. It feels more charming than it is, and the band powers through it wonderfully. There's nothing wrong with writing three minute rock tunes, and the Fastbacks do it very well.

309. Kayleigh (by Marillion on the album Misplaced Childhood, 1985): This is my favorite love song ever and one of my top five favorite songs. Like most of the songs on this album, Fish tempers his flair for metaphor and impenetrable lyrics by simplifying the words yet still keeping them beautiful. From the beginning, when he sings, "Do you remember the cherry blossoms in the market square; do you remember, I thought it was confetti in our hair," you feel the nostalgia for lost, idealized love, but the images he evokes are perfectly plausible in the bloom of a new romance. The end is devastating: Fish sings: "Kayleigh, I'm still trying to write that love song; Kayleigh it's more important to me now you're gone; Maybe it will prove that we were right or even prove that I was wrong." The music fits the song perfectly, subtle and aching when Fish sings of his past, heart-rending when he sings the chorus. This is almost a perfect song.

310. King (by Marillion on the album Afraid of Sunlight, 1995): Yes, it's another Marillion song. Sorry! This song, off their oddest offering (definitely not their worst, just oddest), ends the album superbly. It begins with cacophony, with wailing keyboards and raucous guitars, and then suddenly goes quiet, which is when Hogarth starts singing. This is the kind of song he does well - a story, starring a character who has it all, but then watches things go bad. It's a song about a rock star who wonders if he's a fraud. The song builds in power, driving inexorably toward its conclusion, as Hogarth sings, "But the fire in your belly that gave you the songs is suddenly gone." He almost screams the final lyrics, as the cacophony returns backing him, and then the song suddenly ends in a flurry of white noise. It's a brilliant ending, because we're expecting a final, major chord on a piano not unlike "A Day in the Life," but Marillion doesn't give it to us, leaving us at the height with nowhere to go. Just like the character in the song. Very neat.

Again, I apologize for the narrowness of the selections this time, even though they're all great songs. Chime in with your objections to my selections ... if you dare!

Great songs, according to me (Parts 16-30)

The second fifteen parts of Great Songs, According To Me:

Part Sixteen: "Drop Dead Legs" by Van Halen to "Enjoy the Silence" by Depeche Mode.
Part Seventeen: "Entangled" by Genesis to "Exhausted" by Foo Fighters.
Part Eighteen: "Eye for Eye" by Think Tree to "Famous Last Words" by Billy Joel.
Part Nineteen: "Fast Lane" by Urban Dance Squad to "Five-O" by James.
Part Twenty: "Follow You Follow Me" by Genesis to "The Full Bug" by Van Halen.
Part Twenty-One: "Gallows Pole" by Led Zeppelin to "Give it Revolution" by Suicidal Tendencies.
Part Twenty-Two: "Given to Fly" by Pearl Jam to "Go'n Breakdown" by Suicidal Tendencies.
Part Twenty-Three: "Gone Daddy Gone" by Violent Femmes to "Heathaze" by Genesis.
Part Twenty-Four: "Hell's Ditch" by the Pogues to "The Hounds of Winter" by Sting.
Part Twenty-Five: "House" by Marillion to "I Am the City" by ABBA.
Part Twenty-Six: "I Better be Quiet Now" by Elliot Smith to "I Remember You" by Steve Earle.
Part Twenty-Seven: "I Shatter" by the Magnetic Fields to "If My Heart Were a Ball it Would Roll Uphill" by Marillion.
Part Twenty-Eight: "I'm a Mother" by the Pretenders to "In the New Age" by King's X.
Part Twenty-Nine: "In My Life Today" by Lenny Kravitz to "Instant Club Hit (You'll Dance to Anything)" by the Dead Milkmen.
Part Thirty: "Interior Lulu" by Marillion to "Jerusalem" by Steve Earle.

Great songs, according to me (Part 30)

300 songs that I think are great. I'm sure impressed with myself!

Let's link to the previous entries: Parts 1-15, archived, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, and Part 29. Now, let's move on to the next 10 songs.

291. Interior Lulu (by Marillion on the album marillion.com, 1999): Marillion just released a new album, which is decent but not great. I didn't mean to have yet another Marillion song on this list just as they release a new album, it just worked out that way. "Interior Lulu" is a monster song, sprawling and jazzy and just a bit funky. It tells a tale of isolation even as the Internet allows us to "connect" but severs our link to the actual world. It's a sad song, but it never descends into gloominess. The music powers the song along, starting with a sly beat and a groovy bass line before becoming a cacophony in the middle section of the song, reflecting the spiral of madness our world has become. The heart of the song comes when Hogarth sings, "If you can break it, it's already broken," a heartfelt cry that yearns for meaning in a meaningless world. Not the most fun song in the world, but a powerful statement nonetheless.

292. International Bright Young Thing (by Jesus Jones on the album Doubt, 1991): Doubt is a good album, helped by some stellar songs, of which this is an example. It has a great groove, and although the lyrics aren't anything fantastic, Edwards does give us a wry critique of pop culture even as he indulges in some funky dance music. It's a great song to play loud and bop your head to. There's nothing wrong with that!

293. Is it Too Late? (by World Party on the album Goodbye Jumbo, 1990): As usual with a great many World Party songs, this has a strong environmental bent to it, and unlike some of Wallinger's tunes, it doesn't get overwhelmed by it. The song has a nice exotic flavor to it, with almost dreamy music and oddly surreal lyrics. Wallinger sings about rescuing the world and ourselves, and does so without beating us over the head. At the end, when Wallinger whispers about the elephant's graveyard, it's slightly chilling, which is a nice way to end the song.

294. Is This Desire? (by PJ Harvey on the album Is This Desire?, 1998): The final song on Harvey's weakest album yet has nothing to apologize for. Despite the uneven quality of the other songs, this somewhat breathless paean to yearning for more in life is a nice coda. Harvey always seems to come up with at least one gut-wrenching song on every album she releases, and this one stands with her best. Her vocals, which are muted on almost every other song on the disc, come through with the power we expect from Polly Jean. It's a wonderful call for positive emotion in a world that doesn't have enough of it, and it almost redeems the entire album.

295. Istanbul (not Constantinople) (by They Might Be Giants on the album Flood, 1990): Great songs don't necessarily have to be all that meaningful, and so it is with TMBG's cover of this old Jimmy Kennedy/Nat Simon tune. It's a perfectly lightweight song about, well, the name change of the great city on the Bosporus (which isn't really a name change, since "Istanbul" is, as far as I know, simply the Turkish version). TMBG's version is very fun, though, and the violin and accordion bring a nice Turkish flavor to the song. It's a quick piece of musical wonderfulness, and that's all it needs to be. Why did Constantinople get the works? Well, that's nobody's business but the Turks.

296. It Can Happen (by Yes on the album 90125, 1983): Although in the 1980s Yes left the 20-minute opera behind to concentrate on money-grubbing, "It Can Happen" remains a magnificent song, with Jon Anderson in fine high-pitched form and the rest of the band (whoever they were at this point) soaring with him. It's a wonderful melding of vocals and music, and when Anderson wails, "There's a crazy world outside, we're not about to lose our pride," we feel both his despair and his hope. Yes fell too quickly into the just-another-rock-band category (you may not have liked their 1970s noodlings, but at least they were weirdly unique), but this is a nice blast at glory before they landed.

297. It'll Probably Make Me Cry (by Mary's Danish on the album There Goes The Wondertruck ..., 1989): Another song by the criminally underrated Mary's Danish (whose first two albums, including this one, are brilliant), this one is sort-of country, with a nice twang by Julie Ritter (again, I'm assuming it's Julie, even though they have two female singers) and weepy lyrics. Like all there other songs, however, they sell it well, and we feel the pain of loss and the power in the relatively simple lyrics. A wonderful heartfelt song on a great album.

298. It's a Mistake (by Men At Work on the album Cargo, 1982): I probably still have this album on LP, because I'm so old-school. What a fun band Men At Work were, and occasionally, they wrote really brilliant songs. This tune, which has a bit of a Dr. Strangelove vibe to it (at least from the lyrics), also has that hauntingly bizarre music that complements the paranoid lyrics very well. Colin Hay's odd Aussie vocals give the lyrics a wry component that makes the song both more chilling and more ironic. Great stuff.

299. It's Raining Men (by The Weather Girls, 1982): What can I say? It's one of the greatest disco songs ever. And the subject of a very funny sequence in The Simpsons: Moe gets angry at Homer and tells him he's taking Homer's favorite song off the jukebox. Homer, aghast, cries, "It's Raining Men!" and Moe answers, "Not no more it ain't" and hurls the 45 out the window, where it passes through an open car window and hits Smithers in the head. He can't believe his luck! I also played this for my students in the spring of 2002 and a fellow teacher and I sang along at the top of our voices. Needless to say, my students thought I was very odd. I don't care.

300. Jerusalem (by Steve Earle on the album Jerusalem, 2002): In a complete tonal shift, we get the title track of this very good album. Earle sings a simple song about the violence in the Middle East and his hope that things will get better. Earle, despite a seemingly bleak outlook in the short-term (he doesn't like Bush), is often upbeat when thinking about the future, and this song is a perfect example. At the end of the song, he sings, "And there'll be no barricades then, there'll be no wire or walls, and we can wash all this blood from our hands, and all this hatred from our souls." It's a song that looks to a point where we can live together in peace, and Earle gravelly voice does a much better job of selling it than if he were smoother.

Look at that - another ten songs in the books. Feel free to let the vitriol fly when you tell me I know nothing about music!