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 27)

Wow - only two weeks since the last one! I like doing these posts, and I have a lot to get to, so I'm going to try to be more timely with them. We'll see!

Of course, I must link to the archives, in case you missed any of my rambling:
Parts 1-15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, and Part 26. Just so you know.

261. I Shatter (by Magnetic Fields on the album 69 Love Songs (vol. 2), 1999): This is the final song on the second of the three albums that make up 69 Love Songs, and it's a weird tune, but very creepily cool. Stephen Merritt, the bizarre creative genius behind the band, sings the tune in a deep, growly bass, and in only a few minutes, establishes a mood that sinks into you and leaves you very disturbed (a good thing in this case). The best line of the song is the little chorus: "You called me mad (and I am mad [which is sung in a higher, choral voice]) as a hatter, some fall in love ... I shatter." Just brilliant.

262. I Want Your (Hands On Me) (by Sinéad O'Connor on the album The Lion and the Cobra, 1987): Sinéad O'Connor has always had a funky streak, even though a lot of her music doesn't show it. This song, from her first album, isn't exactly funky, but it does have a good hard dance beat, and O'Connor's nasty "fuck me" lyrics show off her wild side. The repetition of "Put 'em on, put 'em on, put 'em on me" is linked to the repetition of sex, and toward the end, when she emits a combination snarl/yell, we get the whole sense of sex - pleasurable, but brutal. One of the highlights of an excellent album.

263. I Would For You (by Jane's Addiction on the album Jane's Addiction, 1987): The first album by Jane's Addiction is a live one, and although some songs aren't great, it has some classics, including this plaintive long song, aided immeasurably by Farrell's keening vocals. There's very little music to the song, just a simple bass line, and that allows Perry to use his voice as an instrument, starting softly with "I'm everybody's slave, I made you my slave" and growing to a wail at the song's climax: "And if you wonder what I would do, I would do anything if I could ... you know I would ..." The lyrics are simple, like the music, but the haunting, echoing nature of the vocals coupled with the thud of the bass makes this a great, painfully raw song.

264. Ice Cream Man (by Van Halen on the album Van Halen, 1978): "Ice Cream Man" is a cover, but Van Halen does cover songs really well, and Dave's lascivious vocals raise this up, as does Eddie's joyful guitar. When Dave starts off with "Summertime's here, babe, need somethin' to keep you cool ..." with that sleazy sex-addict voice of his, you know you're in for three minutes of groovy music, and when he laconically tells the boys to join him (which is when the "rock" music kicks in), it sounds like he's inviting them to an orgy. Leading, of course, to the inevitable slow-down at the end, when all the ice cream has been, presumably, licked off many naked ladies. Van Halen makes cock-rock sound weirdly innocent, and this song is a prime example of it.

265. I'd Die Without You (by P.M. Dawn on The Bliss Album ...?, 1993): P.M. Dawn's finest album ends with perhaps their best song, a beautiful love song about not realizing what you had until it's gone. Yes, it's a theme that has been tapped for decades in song, but that doesn't make it invalid! Here, Prince Be's lyrics over the lush music are so heartfelt that we believe he's dying inside, which is all we ever want out of one of these kinds of songs. As usual with the group, the lyrics are wonderful, too: "Is it my turn to hold your hands, tell you I love you and you not hear me?" Yes, maybe these stupid men who sing these songs should have been smarter the first time around. But then we wouldn't get such nice songs out of them!

266. Idiot Stare (by Jesus Jones on the album Perverse, 1993): Most people, if they own a Jesus Jones album, own Doubt and no others. That's a shame, because they have made some good music on other albums, and this song, which came on their follow-up, is a good example. It's another album-ender, and kicks in with a swirling techno beat and a dizzying hard edge to it, and Mike Edwards sings, almost softly at first, but gradually ramping up until he's emitting a primal scream in the chorus: "I don't know if I care, I can't feel, I can't speak, I can't think caught in an idiot stare." It's a nice "fuck-you" shout-out to the crazed culture we've created - which, of course, Jesus Jones is participating in. Oh, the irony!

267. Idol (by Amanda Ghost on the album Ghost Stories, 2000): This is a strange (but great) song in which our little Amanda pleads for, well, an idol. It's a lost little girl kind of song, helped by Ghost's unusual voice, which sounds a tiny bit lispy. When she gets to the chorus, the power in her voice becomes the song's strength, as her plea becomes more urgent, as if her need for someone to worship is consuming her. Like I said, a strange song, but very haunting and gut-wrenching.

268. If I Was Your Girlfriend (by Prince on the album Sign O' The Times, 1987): The first gender-bending song on this list is Prince's weird boppy song from what many people consider his greatest album (not me, but it's close). Prince switches roles to show that he, as a man, can be as sensitive to a woman's needs as a woman can, and sings about situations where he could help his lady out more. Or maybe he just has lesbian fantasies. The best part of the song is toward the end, when The Purple One starts ranting like he's sucked too much helium and the pace of the lyrics gets faster and faster (even though the music doesn't) and then, post-orgasm, Prince contemplates "what silence looks like." It's a wacky but interesting song, and Prince is just crazy enough to pull it off.

269. If I Was Your Man (by Joan Osborne on the album Righteous Love, 2000): Speaking of switching gender roles, here's Joan Osborne imagining herself as a man. Osborne has a marvelous voice, and she uses it to full effect in this song, singing as if she's sweating somewhere on the bayou, lazily winding her way through the song while the music adds to the eerie sensation of the scene. Suddenly, halfway through, she switches to a more urgent tone, and we get the meat of the song: "3:30 in the morning is to easy for you, but when it comes without a warning what are you gonna do this time?" It's a strange song about obsession and desire, but Osborne's subtly nasty voice sells it.

270. If My Heart Were A Ball It Would Roll Uphill (by Marillion on the album Anoraknophobia, 2001): Yes, it's another Marillion song. They have a new album coming out in April, so I'm ridiculously excited at the chance to add even more great songs to this list!!!! Bwah-ha-ha-ha! Anyway, this is the final song of their 2001 release, and it begins with a big crunch of guitars and keyboards, with Hogarth practically shouting the lyrics. Only when they've blasted us for a bit does the song slow down, allowing Hogarth to paint a nightmare picture of love - not exactly an unpleasant one, but one in which you're not in control, which is what love kind of is, after all. The final chanting of words that gradually pile into something coherent is wonderful, and it becomes a triumphant song about love's power. How sweet. Man, I'm excited about the new album.

So that's another 10 songs on my list of great ones. I'll finish this yet! Agree? Disagree? Never heard of any of them? Let me know!