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 (Part 25)

Wow, I've reached 250 songs on this list. At this rate I should finish sometime close to when the kids go off to college. I'm sure the masses will have lynched me long before then!

However, I will forge on. As usual with a lot of what I do here, these lists are fun. Lists in general are fun! And, also as usual, here's the backlist:

Parts 1-15 archived, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, and Part 24. Now let's get to it!

241. House (by Marillion on the album marillion.com, 1999): Yes, another Marillion song (sorry, Lefty!). This song ends their very good yet dumbly-named 1999 album, and it's an unusual choice to finish, as it meanders around for long stretches and has a strange, ethereal, jazzy feel to it. According to Marillion, it's their tribute to Massive Attack, and it sounds like it (I like Massive Attack, by the way), with lazy trumpets and soft percussion throughout. The lyrics make it shine, however, with the story of a house haunted by the loss of one half of a relationship. Hogarth is in fine form, singing with trembling pain in his voice and wondering what the hell happened. It's not how I would have ended an album, but that doesn't mean it's not a great song.

242. How Soon Is Now? (by The Smiths on the album Meat Is Murder, 1985): I don't like The Smiths. I also don't like Morrissey. Sorry. It just doesn't do it for me. However, I do own their greatest hits album, largely because of this song. God, this is a cool tune. Morrissey whines a lot in his music, but here, the whining is tempered by the strong, existentialist lyrics, and it's less whining than questioning the very nature of reality and the reason why we are here. If you're going to whine, say I, whine about the important stuff! The reason I love this Smiths song over all others is Johnny Marr's haunting guitar work, which is sadly lacking from far too many Smiths songs. He's a great guitarist, but rarely does it sound like it, and in this tune, the echoing of the music complements the lyrics beautifully. So why does every other Smiths song stink? It's a mystery!

243. How Was It For You? (by James on the album Gold Mother, 1990): James' first great album contains a number of great songs, including this song. Tim Booth's lyrics are partly what make the band great, and this song is no exception. His slightly nasal tone works well on songs like this, too, as his scorn comes through well. When he sings, "You look better than the face of God on a sunny day," it sounds like a compliment, but Booth infuses it with such nastiness that we understand he is damning with faint praise. The whininess extends to the music, too, as the guitars flail in the background, inspiring Booth to even more nastiness. A fine, snarky tune.

244. Human Chain (by Christmas on the album Ultraprophets Of Thee Psykick Revolution, 1989): Christmas is a strange little band that never did much (two of its members went on to form Combustible Edison, if that helps), and this is a weird little album (check out the album cover!). I found this in a used record store in State College while I was in college, and figured with such a neat-o title, it had to be good! It's not the greatest album, but it has some good songs on it, and this is the best one. It has a nice funky beat to it (and I can dance to it!) with a choppy percussion section, and the vocals (by Liz Cox, I assume, who is quite good at wailing in this song) are strange and surreal, but still relevant - they speak of, not surprisingly, the links between people. An interesting, weird little tune by a band that never made much of a splash. Here's some more information about them, in case you're interested.

245. Hurt (by Nine Inch Nails on the album The Downward Spiral, 1994): "I ... hurt myself today ... to see if I still feel ..." Ah, Trent, you swell, angry guy. This, the best Nine Inch Nails album, ends with this depressing paean to, well, depression. It's a beautiful song, actually, despite the subject matter, and it gets under your skin and doesn't let you go. It's a great way to end the album, because it sums up what Trent has been raging about for an hour or so, and now, his rage is spent, but what's left is sad resignation. The Johnny Cash cover? Eh. Fine, but lacking the despair in Trent's voice.

246. Hymn 43 (by Jethro Tull on the album Aqualung, 1971): I don't have a lot of "classic" rock on this list, because, frankly, I don't own a lot of "classic" rock. I mean, I like the stuff from the 1960s and '70s, but I listened to classic rock stations when I was a kid and never got around to buying the albums. I went through a short phase in the late 1980s when I bought a bunch of old albums, and that's when I picked up Aqualung. Aqualung is a weird album, isn't it? There are some good songs on it, but "Hymn 43" rises above them. That scratchy guitar, that huffy flute, and those great lyrics - "If Jesus saves - well He'd better save himself from the gory glory seekers who use His name in death." Ian is in fine form on this song.

247. I Am A Man Of Constant Sorrow (by The Soggy Bottom Boys on the O Brother, Where Art Thou? Motion Picture Soundtrack, 2000): This is one of the better movie soundtracks I've heard, and this song, which is NOT sung by George Clooney into a can, is a great one. The lyrics are sad, but it's sung with such exuberance that it doesn't bring you down. He might be a man of constant sorrow and seen trouble all his days, but when you hear the song, you just have to croon along!

248. I Am One (by Smashing Pumpkins on the album Gish, 1991): If you were smart enough to buy the first Smashing Pumpkins album back in 1991 (you were, weren't you?), you would put the tape into your deck or the CD into your player and fire it up, and this song would blast you between the eyes. The rumbling bass, the keening guitar, and suddenly, there's Billy, whining "I am one as you are three, try to find a messiah in your trinity." A very cool beginning to a very cool album, and sets the stage for a fine career that, true went off the rails a bit, but was still good for a while.

249. I Am Stretched on Your Grave (by Sinéad O'Connor on the album I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got, 1990): This is a great album, and this song is one reason why. It kicks off with that somewhat cheesy drum (it fits the song, but it's still kind of cheesy) and O'Connor comes in with that dreamy voice, singing her song about weird death and her obsession with it. When she goes up to the higher registers, her voice becomes even more tremulous, and we get chills. A wonderful and creepy tune.

250. I Am the City (by ABBA on the album More ABBA Gold, 1993): This is an unreleased song from 1982 that didn't show up until this second greatest hits album, but it's a very good addition to the ABBA canon. It's a strange ABBA song in that it delves into some dark territory, which our ladies taking on the persona of the city and welcoming all their acolytes who worship the urbanity of it all. It's disturbing because it sounds like a celebratory song, but when you listen, it's clear that the people in the city are somewhat pathetic, and the city itself rules over them all. Weird but wonderful.

Ah, it's always good to get another bunch of songs out there, so you can see the twisted depths of my depravity! Comments, questions, criticism? Do your worst!

Great songs, according to me (Part 19)

The last time I did one of these, my hard drive crashed. Was it trying to tell me something about my musical taste? Only it knows for sure!

As usual, you can check out the previous entries here, here, here, and here. If you're so inclined.

181. Fast Lane (by Urban Dance Squad on the album Mental Floss For The Globe, 1989): This is the best song of UDS' first album, and it's the kind of song that just grabs you and shakes you and doesn't let go. Scratchy guitars, scratchy beats, angry lyrics, and unlike a lot of UDS songs, it's comprehensible. It's about, obviously, living in the fast lane and the temptations of fame. Not the most original stuff, but it's still a kick-ass tune.

182. Faye Tucker (by Indigo Girls on the album Come On Now Social, 1999): From the moment Amy howls "On the night they killed Faye Tucker, I was gambling away my last dime," you know you're in for something special. Technically, this is the last track on what might be the Girls' finest album (there's a "hidden track" after it), and it's the perfect ending to a raw disc, as the song is full of pain and despair. The music is terrible (in a good way), too - portentous and uncomfortable, and it lurches along with pure force of will. It's an astonishing song, and it takes you out into the dark places and just leaves you there. Faye Tucker, by the way, was the first woman executed in Texas. Go, Governor George Bush!

183. Fearless (by Fish on the album Songs From The Mirror, 1993): Fish put out this album of cover songs in order to fulfill his contractual obligations and get away from his record label, I think. It's an uneven disc, but a few times, he takes songs and makes them his own and makes them great, like this old Pink Floyd tune (the original of which I've never heard). Fish is very good at singing slightly sentimental songs (phew!) and this certainly qualifies. He starts quietly and almost meekly, but builds slowly and although he never gets too loud, you can just feel the power in his voice. It's a nice song. I wonder what the Floyd version sounds like.

184. Feeding Frenzy (by Midnight Oil on the album Earth And Sun And Moon, 1993): Midnight Oil's finest album begins with this rough song and Peter growling "Well I'm as old as the hills and young as the day" while the boys carry him along. He gets more and more urgent as the song progresses, but he still sounds almost sad, which adds a nice poignancy to the tune. It's a good way to kick off the album, as it sets a nice tone, typical of Midnight Oil, of sadness over lack of respect for the past and a fear of the future. But they make the apocalypse sound so good!

185. Feels So Good (by Van Halen on the album OU812, 1988): No, it doesn't feature Diamond Dave screeching, or even Sammy screeching. No, it doesn't feature a true kick-ass guitar solo by Eddie. Yes, it's a (ugh!) ballad. But guess what? This song is awesome. It begins with that cool whatever-the-hell-is-making-that-noise (I'd guess synthesizer, but I could be wrong), and then Sammy launches in with that smooth, lying-on-the-beach-in-Cabo voice that can get scratchy at just the right time, and we're off! It's not the deepest song in the world, sure, but it just lifts you up and takes you away and you feel so much better after listening to it. And it does have a cool guitar solo, even if it doesn't kick your ass all over the place.

186. A Few Words For The Dead (by Marillion on the album Radiation, 1998): This songs ends this occasionally disappointing album, and it does so with verve and power. It starts almost inaudible, and Hogarth slowly and surely weaves a dark picture of a man (presumably) pushed to the edge, ready to commit violence, and then offers an alternative. It's a preachy and perhaps un-subtle tune, but Steve sells it with his lyrics blending with his voice blending with the triumphant music once he lets it fly. It's a great song, but the fact that it ends the album pushes it even higher.

187. Fields Of Joy (by Lenny Kravitz on the album Mama Said, 1991): Not the reprise, which is weird, but the first song on this excellent album. "Fields Of Joy" kicks off this disc with a bang, as Lenny falsettos the opening, with those trippy lyrics, and then blasts into the meat of the song, almost shrieking with what I presume is joy. The guitar solo that follows is a primal scream of intensity, and then the song calms back down for the end. It's a brilliant way to start, and leaves you a bit breathless.

188. The First Time (by U2 on the album Zooropa, 1993): A beautiful quiet song on a largely underrated and ignored album, "The First Time" is one of my favorite U2 songs. Bono tones down the bombast, Edge doesn't strum that guitar in the same way he does in a good three-quarters of U2 songs, and the song just takes you along serenely. It builds slowly in intensity but never overwhelms you, and when Bono gets to the part where his father left by the back door and threw away the key, and the piano gets a little more forceful, and you feel the freedom mixed with pain that the lyrics symbolize, you just know you've heard a great song.

189. Five Years (by David Bowie on the album The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars, 1972): This is another song on Fish's album of covers (see above) and it's where I first heard it. I like both versions, but since Bowie came first, I'll give him the credit. The lyrics are kind of weird - the earth is dying, and we only have five years left. Of course the song will be sad, but it's also a bit triumphant - the narrator begins to understand how beautiful even the mundane is in life. Too bad it's too late, sucker! A nice, typical, early 1970s Bowie song. But it's better.

190. Five-O (by James on the album Laid, 1993): This is one of my absolutely favorite songs of all time. I love it so. It's also one of the creepiest songs, as we think it's a love song, then we think it might be just a wistful song about lost love, but then we realize it's really quite different. Another song that starts quietly and builds and builds (yes, I like those), Tim Booth draws us in with his weird voice and unsettling lyrics, and then he sings "I can be the man, I see in your eyes" and you think it's a pleasant love song. But it's not: he moves on and sings "If it lasts forever, hope I'm the first to die," which in my mind is perhaps the most evil lyric ever. It's not as horrible as you might think, as he is wondering "is the power of love worth the pain of loss?" He can't decide if he wants to take the chance, because it might hurt so much. The way Booth toys with us throughout the song is what makes this brilliant. A great, great song by an excellent band on a very good album.

All-righty-o, another ten songs in the books! As always, criticism is certainly welcome. It's always interesting to hear what other people enjoy and why my tastes are awful!