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 29)

Yes, I'm back for another go-around with songs I think are great. There will be at least one that my awesome cadre of readers (now up to 9 of them!) will mock me incessantly over. I don't care - I will forge on!

First, as usual, the backlist: Parts 1-15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, and Part 28.

Now, let's get the next ten!

281. In My Life Today (by Lenny Kravitz on the album Circus, 1995): This is the last Lenny Kravitz album I bought, because it's not that good and I figured if he's going to keep making the same music, I can listen to the old ones, right? However, "In My Life Today" is a great Kravitz song, because it's the kind of sentimental tune that he does very well. Lenny is just singing to God, and he does it with such passion and power that we're swept away by it. His old-fashioned freak-out toward the end never gets old, even though it's a Kravitz staple. It's a song that makes you want to sing along at the top of your voice, and there's nothing wrong with that.

282. In My Time of Dying (by Led Zeppelin on the album Physical Graffiti, 1975): I'm sure, if Zep ripped this song off, that Roger will be nice enough to come by and tell me about it. But I don't care. This is an epic song off Zep's best album, and it proves that Bonham is the best rock and roll drummer ever - yes, better than Keith Moon and Neil Peart. Suck on that, Who and Rush fans! Plant's wailing is in fine form, but it's Bonham's amazing drums that keeps the song going through 11 eleven minutes or so - he slows and speeds the tempo at will and matches Jimmy's slide guitar wonderfully. This is the quickest 11-minute song you'll ever hear, and it's due exclusively to Bonham. Just a wonderful musical experience.

283. Incubus (by Marillion on the album Fugazi, 1984): Of Marillion's early albums (pre-1989), this is the weakest, because Fish got really weird with the lyrics and the sprawling music didn't help him. However, there are some gems on it, and "Incubus" is one of them. It still features the lyrical madness that Fish is so good at, but it's much less metaphorical than most of songs on the album and therefore more accessible. Fish gives it his all in the singing, as well, which helps sell the song. His weirdly delicate verse toward the end ("weirdly" because Fish is a giant man with a big set of pipes, and it's tough to imagine him being delicate), which ends with "You who wiped me from your memory like a greasepaint mask, just like a greasepaint mask" is wonderful and heart-breaking at the same time. It's a towering revenge song, which makes it all the more gut-wrenching.

284. Independence Day (by Elliot Smith on the album XO, 1998): It's difficult to pin down "great" Elliot Smith songs since they all sound alike, but a few stand out, and "Independence Day" is one of them. The wistful yet quirky music, a shade more upbeat than usual, helps, as the lyrics are more hopeful than Smith's usual stuff. It's hard to view his lyrics these days without thinking about his death (suicide? murder?) and if they portend things, and maybe that's why this song is better than others, because it is does point to a brighter future. A great song from a great songwriter.

285. Indian Summers Dream (by Stress on the album Stress, 1991): There have been more than one band named Stress, and this one broke up long ago and this album (their only one, as far as I can discover) is probably out of print, so I can find them nowhere in cyberspace. Oh well. This trio played that kind of 1960s-influenced rock so many bands played in the late 1980s and early 1990s, with some psychedelic influences and a definite nod to the Beatles. This whole album is pretty good, actually, and this song is definitely a highlight. It has nice melodies and some groovy sitar in it, and makes the whole thing an enjoyable listening experience. I'd say more about it, but Stress is long gone from the music scene, so it's kind of pointless. Anyone out there ever hear of them? I picked the cassette up in Australia, but I'm pretty sure they were British. Someone must have seen them on 120 Minutes at some point!

286. Indifference (by Pearl Jam on the album Vs., 1993): Ten is my favorite Pearl Jam album, but this is probably their best, and this final song is a big reason why. It's very moody and quiet, but Eddie mumbles with such conviction and then gives that howl when he sings "I'll swallow poison, until I grow immune," which caps the song. It's a powerful statement about getting through the tough times and surviving, which is what we need to do in this world occasionally.

287. Inertia Creeps (by Massive Attack on the album Mezzanine, 1998): This is the only Massive Attack album I own, and even though I like it, I don't really have a desire to buy another one. The songs are good, but nothing spectacular. "Inertia Creeps," however, is brilliant, with its sense of prowling menace and impenetrable lyrics. It has a nice electronic crunch to it, more than the other songs on the album, and it adds a nice touch of paranoia to your listening experience. Fine stuff.

288. Infecto Groovalistic (by Infectious Grooves on the album The Plague That Makes Your Booty Move ... It's the Infectious Grooves, 1991): The Suicidal Tendencies side project that is the Infectious Grooves made some brilliant music, especially on this first album, and this song is one of the great ones. As usual with the songs by the Grooves, we get some slap-funky bass, but Mike Muir reins in his usual venomous screaming to give us a bit more melody, even though the lyrics remain as embittered as ever. Trujillo's bass remains the backbone of the song, and keeps everything funky, which keeps everything pulsing nicely. A nice song to end the album.

289. Inside Information (by Foreigner on the album Inside Information, 1987): Mock all you want, but I like Foreigner, damn it! I recognize that most of their songs are pretty darned cheesy, and after 4 they really fell off the page musically ("I Want to Know What Love is"?????), but this album is pleasant enough, punctuated by a few gems, including the title track. Yes, it sounds like a lot of mid- to late-1980s cheeseball pop, but Mick Jones gives it a bit more bite than post-"Urgent" Foreigner usually had, with a bit of a nasty guitar slicing through the keyboards, while Lou Gramm, who often sounds bored on the album, actually puts some effort into it. The lyrics are goofy, but Gramm plays them to the hilt, and it helps put the song into more rarefied air. A classic? Maybe, maybe not. But a great slice of music. Too bad Foreigner didn't have more of them.

290. Instant Club Hit (You'll Dance to Anything) (by The Dead Milkmen on the album Bucky Fellini, 1987): The Dead Milkmen, who hailed from suburban Philadelphia (near where I grew up, actually), had a brief fling with fame with "Punk Rock Girl," but this album, which came out the preceding year, is probably their best (although Big Lizard in my Backyard has some great songs). This song, which is their snide retort to dance music, has some of the funniest lyrics you'll ever hear ("Don't try to tell me that you're an intellectual, 'cause you're just another boring bisexual"), a fantastic feedback guitar solo in the middle that totally crushes the boppy beat of the dance music, and finally, a list of Eighties bands the men feel are unworthy of your love even though you'll dance to anything by them: the Communards, the Smiths, Public Image Limited ... ending with a snarl about giving your money to "stupid Europeans" instead of giving it to a "decent American artist" like, say, the Dead Milkmen. Funny, funny stuff.

Well, that's another ten songs in the book. Next time I'll actually be up to 300 songs! Holy crap! Please, feel free to mock my affection for Foreigner. I can take it!

Great songs, according to me (Part 28)

Another fun installment of what I think are great songs! Of course, my tastes may be a bit off, according to you, but that has never stopped me before!

Of course, I have to link you up to the previous lists. Because that's how I roll!

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.

271. I'm A Mother (by the Pretenders on the album Last Of The Independents, 1994): I am not a huge fan of the Pretenders, but this album is pretty strong, and this song kicks all kind of ass. It has a great rumbling guitar part that propels us along, and Chrissie's voice, which for me is sometimes a detriment to the song, fits it perfectly. She mutters early on in the song, which gives her snarl as we move through the song more savage impact. She sings about motherhood, and it becomes a powerful indictment of those who would deprive mothers of their children.

272. I'm Free (by the Soup Dragons on the album Lovegod, 1990): I know this is a Rolling Stones song, but I've never heard it (yes, I suck). Well, I've heard a brief part of it on that new commercial, but I've never heard the entire song. And I don't care, because this is a great song when the Soup Dragons did it. It has that excellent reggae thing going for it, and it's just so darned funky. I can take my reggae in small doses, thank you, and this the perfect amount. It still gets me bopping!

273. I'm Lost And Then I'm Found (by the Godfathers on the album More Songs About Love And Hate, 1989): Man, I love this song and this album. The Godfathers never hit it big, even though they showed up on Saturday Night Live in 1989 (which is where I saw them, doing this song, which convinced me to buy the album), but they kicked much ass. They were a throwback to solid guitar bands in an age of keyboard-drenched stuff, and this song epitomizes their awesomeness. With great lines like "Cigarettes and women be the death of me, better that than this old town" and hard-driving rhythms, this is just a wonderful rock and roll song. They released a couple more albums and then disappeared. But they still rock!

274. Immortality (by Pearl Jam on the album Vitalogy, 1994): This is such a cool song, coming at the end of maybe Pearl Jam's best album. Eddie mumbles a lot, sure, but he has such a way with making the mumbling sound powerful and deep, and in this song, the lyrics even demand that kind of portentousness! And when the music builds and Eddie actually sings "Truants move on ... cannot stay long ... some die just to live ..." and then we pull back and meander off, it's a magical musical moment. It's kind of disappointing that they have never released another album as good as this one (good ones, but not as good as this).

275. In A Bar (by Hamell on Trial on the album The Chord Is Mightier Than The Sword, 1997): Ed Hamell is a punk rocker playing an acoustic guitar, and he kicks much ass. This album is out of print, apparently, which is a shame, because it's very good, largely due to songs like this, in which Hamell slows things down a bit and sings about a man returning to his home town after years away, and discovering that things haven't really changed. Hamell does this sort of wistfulness very well (he has another song further down on this list with the same kind of feel to it) and it speaks to a nostalgic longing for the good old days, even with the recognition that they weren't all that good. Of course we can never go home again, and this song captures that sadness perfectly, as well as the depression of those we leave behind.

276. In And Out Of Love (by Bon Jovi on the album 7800 Degrees Fahrenheit, 1985): You know, if you're going to do cheesy big-hair metal, at least do it well, and Bon Jovi was pretty good at it. Occasionally they would really crank out a song that rose above the rest, and this one is an example. The lyrics are nothing to write home about, but Jon actually sneers and snarls a bit, which makes it less mass-produced than their usual songs, and Richie's wailing guitars remind us that he's pretty darned good. Maybe I think it's great because my 14-year-old male brain remembers it that way, but it still rocks 20 years later.

277. In The Cage (by Genesis on the album The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway, 1974): I have mentioned my love for Genesis quite often, and this album in particular. Every weird experiment Genesis did with their music came to fruition on this album, and they were able to get rid of the really weird stuff that didn't work and pare it down to "basic" weirdness. Take this song, which is probably my favorite from the album. Gabriel sings, "I got sunshine in my stomach, like I just rocked my baby to sleep" to start off, and the song quickly turns from the relatively feel-good beginning to a paranoid delusion of terror - "Stalactites, stalagmites, shut me in, lock me tight." The music whirls dervishly, then crunches to a slow burn as Gabriel sings like a prophet, "Outside the cage I see my brother John ... But he does not even want to try to speak. I'm helpless in my violent rage and a silent tear of blood dribbles down his cheek." Chilling. Then the gang ratchets up the music again and we spiral into madness once again. It's a brilliant song, and shows why Genesis could be a great band.

278. In The Dark (by Janet Speaks French on the album In The Planet Janet, 1994): This is a great song on an odd album that is out of print, sadly enough. It's not that it's that great an album, it's just that the packaging - it looks like a comic book, complete with story, and the songs on the album sort of go along with the story - is fun. This song, which is about despair and finding a way out of it, mines familiar territory, but the band feels like they care more about this song than many others on the album, which counts for a lot. It's a song that feels like it deserves a better album around it. The album is an oddity, and if you see it in a bargain bin, pick it up. It's nothing memorable, but it's not lousy.

279. In The Neighborhood (by Hamell On Trial on the album Big As Life, 1996): The second song from Hamell on this list, this song also goes to the nostalgia well, but with a less wistful yet more heartfelt feel to it. Hamell sounds like he has been more injured in this song than in the other, and it makes the song a bit more thoughtful. The music has a bit of an epic feel to it, coming out of the past to haunt the present, and lends the lyrics more heft. A beautiful song.

280. In The New Age (by King's X on the album Out Of The Silent Planet, 1988): The first song on the first album by King's X gets things off to a rousing start. It begins slowly and quietly, building power through the trio's soon-to-be-distinctive throbbing guitar play, and the vocals eventually reach a crescendo of barely-controlled screaming. The lyrics are, well, new-agey (shocking, given the title), but they're still pretty interesting, announcing a Christian sensibility without beating the listeners over the head with it. King's X got more overt with their Christianity in later albums, then backed off it, but on this album and in this song they strike a nice balance, and this song sets a mood for a powerful rock album with a nice trippy feel to it.

That's another group of songs that I think are great. Tell me how off-base I am, and I will scoff at your pedestrian tastes!

Top Ten Day: My favorite albums

After the runaway success of "Top Ten Week," I had planned on doing a Top Ten Day each week, because I have plenty of things I can make lists out of! Things got in the way, however, and although I started this post a month ago, I haven't had a chance to finish it. It's tough making a list of your favorite albums! So I hope I will be able to do a Top Ten Day every week, either on Thursday or Friday, because lists are p-h-u-n! Let's get started!

I suppose saying "albums" is anachronistic, as I don't own any actual albums anymore (well, I suppose my parents probably still have a few - I used to have Cargo by Men At Work on vinyl, as well as Buckner and Garcia's Pac-Man Fever - the entire album!), but I don't know what else to call them. I also understand that even CDs are becoming passe, as iPods take over and make it easier and easier to customize anything you listen to and skip the songs you don't like. Well, I don't own an iPod, and I love entire albums! So here are my ten favorite. As usual, I don't claim that these are the best albums out there - I probably own several that are more technically proficient and lyrically stronger than these. But these are the ones that I know practically every lyric to, the ones I might be able to sing completely through by heart, the ones I spontaneously sing occasionally when I'm not thinking. In other words, my favorites. If you've ever read any of my greatest songs lists, you should know that you should tremble in fear! So, in no particular order (except the first one, my favorite album EVER):

1. Marillion, Misplaced Childhood, 1985. I know people who read this blog regularly are sick of my love of Marillion, but I don't care. Ironically, I was introduced to them in 1985 when my sister, of all people, came back from Germany with two of their albums on tape, including this one (I say "ironically" because, according to me, my sister has horrendous taste in everything). I liked the album enough to get it for myself. It's a concept album, but most of the songs stand on their own. The music is beautiful and haunting, and Fish's lyrics, which occasionally drift into the completely oblique (as happened on their previous release, Fugazi), stay grounded in the story of lost love and innocence. Some of the songs are classics - the album begins with the trifecta of "Pseudo Silk Kimono," "Kayleigh" (one of the best love songs ever, in my humble opinion), and "Lavender," and ends with "Childhoods End?" and "White Feather," in which Fish brings his journey through life and dealing with celebrity and disappointment with politics back to the theme of the album, which is how we lose a certain kind of innocence when we grow up but that we need to remain idealistic, if not innocent, in order to become truly happy. It's ultimately an uplifting album, and pulls together everything I love about Marillion. I still listen to it often, and know every single word and nuance.

2. Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack, 1971. Krys laughs at me whenever I listen to this (I taped the original cast album from the 1970s, although I want to get a CD of one of the newer versions) because I cannot be interrupted the instant the singing starts: "My mind is clearer now ..." says Judas, and from there we're off. I could do a one-man show of this musical, I think. Not only is it good early 1970s-acid rock, it has a very nice love song ("I Don't Know How to Love Him"), the creepy premonitions of Pilate (the sad "Pilate's Dream"), Jesus and his doubts (the powerfully angry and ultimately tragic "Gethsemane"), the two songs between Jesus and Pilate ("Pilate and Christ" and "Trial Before Pilate" - to me, the two best songs on the album), and Judas' angry contemplation of why Jesus did what he did ("Superstar"). The movie added "Could We Start Again Please," which is a nice song about the doubts of Peter and Mary, and included the astonishing imagery of various artistic interpretations of Christ on the cross during "Gethsemane," but for the most part, the album's music and words stand on its own. This remains my favorite musical.

3. The Horse Flies, Gravity Dance, 1991. I have talked briefly about my love for this album before, and it remains one of my favorites. I don't know why I bought it back in 1991 - it was during the time when I would go into record stores and simply buy tapes and CDs by bands I had never heard of but thought sounded neat. Occasionally I would get a clunker, but I did find some great bands that way, and this is one of them. It includes the wildly fun tune "Roadkill," which is about, yes, eating things off the side of the road, and "I Need a Plastic Bag (to Keep My Brains In)," but it also includes the unbelievably beautiful "Two Candles" and a touching tribute to resisting oppressive governments, "Time is Burning." The Horse Flies are a weird pseudo-folk band with lots of other influences - some calypso rhythms, some zydeco - but they blend these things well and come up with brilliant off-the-wall lyrics. They never released another "real" album - they did a couple of soundtracks and a live album - but apparently they're out there somewhere kicking up some fun shit.

4. Mother Love Bone, Apple, 1990. You could call this grunge, I suppose, but MLB's only album (before lead singer Andrew Wood overdosed on heroin and a couple of the members formed Pearl Jam) is a brilliant piece of late 1980s hair metal with all the pretention drained out of it. The guys looked like they should be in Slaugter, but Wood's psychedelic lyrics and Stone Gossard's Led Zeppelin-esque guitars meant they were so much more than just metal. From the grind of "This is Shangrila" to the rocking goofiness of "Holy Roller" (with Wood intoning "The boys from Mother Love Bone are like ... soup ... they're like ... nothing bad ..."), to the transcendent majesty of "Stargazer" and pained yearning of "Crown of Thorns," Apple never fails to shine. It's out of print, but it's available as a compilation with their EP from 1989, Shine, which is pretty good too. As much as I like Pearl Jam, I always wonder what would have happened if Wood could have stayed off the junk.

5. Beastie Boys, Paul's Boutique, 1989. A while ago someone mentioned that he liked Licensed to Ill more than this. That's his opinion, but he can't say it's a better album than Paul's Boutique, and I still like this one more. Licensed to Ill is frat-boy rap, and it's perfectly fine, but I hear something new whenever I listen to this, and that's even when I can recite almost the entire album by memory. Not only is this album magnificent lyrically ("Excuse me young lady I don't mean to trouble ya but you're lookin' mighty fine inside your BMW"; "Like Sam the butcher bringing Alice the meat, like Fred Flintstone driving around with bald feet"; "Long distance from my girl and I'm talking on the cellular, she said that she was sorry and I said yeah the hell you were"), but somehow the Boys and the Dust Brothers cram in the most samples you could ever hope to hear, seamlessly. It's astonishing to hear all the little things they stuff in and keep the flow going so smoothly. I absolutely love this album. It's far too much fun for its own good.

6. Pearl Jam, Ten, 1991. I suppose that Vs. and Vitalogy are "better" albums in that they are musically more interesting and the boys are more daring on it, but for sheer kick-assery, you really can't go wrong with Pearl Jam's first album. From "Once," the first song, when Eddie screeches, "Once upon a time I could control myself ..." to the powerful beauty of "Black," with the plaintive cry, "I know you'll be a star in somebody else's sky, but why, why, why can't it be, can't it be mine ..." to the astonishing build up of "Release" and its final primal scream, this is a true gut shot of rock and roll, with more coherence from Eddie than we've seen on later albums and the raw emotion that makes music so good. When I saw Pearl Jam at Penn State in 1991, before they really went huge (they played with Red Hot Chili Peppers and Smashing Pumpkins - now that was a show!), they played every song on this album ... except "Black," which was and still is my favorite Pearl Jam song. Stupid Pearl Jam!

7. Led Zeppelin, Physical Graffiti, 1975. I could have thrown a dart at the wall with any of Zep's first six albums on it and gotten a winner, but the more I thought about it, the more Physical Graffiti came through. To me, this is the apotheosis of the Zep form - it comes after they had honed their skills on blues stuff that was fantastic but derivative, and before they went a little nutty. Here they strike a perfect balance between just jamming ("Custard Pie," "Trampled Under Foot," "Black Country Woman,") and that ethereal stuff that makes you think Plant was reading way too much Tolkien while he got high ("Kashmir," "In The Light"). All of the songs show off the band's chops, with Page the obvious hero but Bonham making a strong case for greatest rock drummer of all time on "In My Time of Dying." Fans of Keith Moon should listen to that song and suck on it! It's a great album because it shows how brilliant Zep could be even as they sung about love and sex and little else of consequence. A double album that earns it, which is a difficult thing to do.

8. Prince, Purple Rain, 1984. Unlike a lot of people, I know that Prince did not visit a South Pacific island between 1992 and 2004 - he kept making music, and some of it (The Gold Experience) is excellent. However, of his many peaks, Purple Rain stands above them all. He really put it all together on this album, from the opening blast of "Let's Go Crazy" to the majestic title track at the end. "The Beautiful Ones" is as piercing an indictment of spurned love as you'll ever hear (and one of the brilliant scenes in the movie), "When Doves Cry" is a nasty stab in the heart, "Darling Nikki" earns the scorn of Tipper Gore and her fascist buddies, even 22 years later, and "I Would Die 4 U" and "Baby I'm A Star" are joyous celebrations of love and celebrity and music. Part of the reason why this album is so good is that Prince resists adding one of those treacly love ballads which often break up his otherwise excellent work, and here, the tightness of the tracks and the blending of the screeching guitar with the rest of the band is brilliant. Too bad he went all ego on everyone, because he's done very good work since then, but never as joyful.

9. Genesis, Duke, 1980. My favorite band used to be Genesis, and this remains my favorite album. I thought about which album by Genesis was my favorite, and rejected the Peter Gabriel stuff because, although there are many great songs on the early stuff, too often there were some dogs, too. For every "Supper's Ready" on Foxtrot there's a "Can-Utility And The Coastliners." We get "The Musical Box" on Nursery Cryme but then we get "The Return Of The Giant Hogweed." So I thought about the post-Gabriel stuff, and Duke straddles the line between the weird, prog-rock of the 1970s (which produced some very good Phil Collins-as-lead-singer albums) and the stadium rock of the 1980s (which produced Invisible Touch, and the less said about that the better). Duke begins with "Behind The Lines," which contains a long musical segment, and then Phil comes in with a sweet tale of love that segues into "Duchess," a bitter song about a singer losing her looks but remaining strong. The pop singles of the album ("Misunderstanding" and "Turn It On Again") are complex musically and wistful lyrically, and I have recently mentioned how much I like "Heathaze." The album ends with a bit of a reprise of the musical themes of the first three songs, and a triumphant (as opposed to sad) restating of the lyrics in "Guide Vocal." A very nicely done album that shows how good AND accessible Genesis could be.

10. Jane's Addiction, Nothing's Shocking, 1988. Jane's had a very brief career (and their comeback album, Strays, doesn't count), but they had a HUGE influence on the rock landscape. This album, their second, is not as ambitious as their "last," Ritual de lo Habitual, but for sheer rock, this album kicks a great deal of ass. "Ocean Size" is a scream of defiance from a battered soul, "Had A Dad" is a snarl at God, "Ted, Just Admit It ..." is a savage attack on the cult of sex and violence that the news peddles, and "Pigs In Zen" rips the upper crust a new one. Even with all this anger, Perry Farrell still gives us "Jane Says," a tragic tale of a girl with no direction, and "Summertime Rolls," a beautiful love song about a more innocent time. It's a wonderful album for the lyrics and Dave Navarro's truly brilliant guitar playing, and Stephen Perkins on drums keeps the tempo zipping when Farrell wants to drawl, while Eric Avery's rumbling bass provides the perfect slightly funky foundation for the hard rock going on above. Excellent stuff.

This was a hard list, because a lot of albums I love missed the cut. You'll note that there are no ABBA albums on this list, even though I love ABBA. Well, ABBA albums, for the most part, are not very well constructed. They have lots of great songs on them, but I think of ABBA as a singles band more, so I concentrate on the songs. If I had to choose, I would probably say Arrival is my favorite, but I don't have to choose!

Any thoughts? What are your own favorite albums? That's what we're all about here -sharing!

Great songs, according to me (Part 22)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great songs, according to me (Part 18)

Let's check out another fun ten songs that I, personally, think are great. This is turning out to be quite the project, ain't it?

As usual, you can always check out the rest of the songs. The archive of the first 150 is here, while Part 16 is here and Part 17 is here. And away we go!

171. Eye for Eye (by Think Tree on the album Like The Idea, 1992): I enjoy doing these alphabetically, because I could go long stretches without mentioning a band I like, and then get a few songs in a row. Such is the case with Think Tree, whom we first came across in Part 17. "Eye For Eye" is another nifty little song by the group, as they twist their weird techno/lo-fi vibe and add a bit of honky-tonk to come up with a truly bizarre, and great song. Peter adds nasty lyrics like "Glances at the telly and it latches up her belly to believe the shot/of a perfumed Pocahantas with her swinging young Adonis lovin' what she's got/she's mad just to be ponderin' how the catch is simply wonderin' when her time will come/when she's forced to crave the honor of his pounding flesh upon her and she's numb with cum." The song is about yearning for celebrity, fame, good looks, carved bodies, meaningful relationships, but when Moore sings "You were promised a taste of honey and wine, all you got was a waste of money and time" we know that those things can't fill that empty hole in your soul. In your soul!!!!
172. Eyes of a Stranger (by Queensryche on the album Operation: Mindcrime, 1988): This song ends a truly great album, and it's nice that they put such a strong song to finish up. "Eyes Of A Stranger" works in the context of Queensryche's concept that has been running through the whole album, but it also works on its own, as a devastating critique of love and the American Dream. The guitars drive us through the song, but Geoff Tate's howling lyrics stay with us - when he sings "Is this all that's left of my life before me, strait jacket memories, sedative highs," the snarl in his voice chills you and reminds you that for many, life is horror-filled and bearable only with drugs. Tate's "character" wants nothing more than to be cured, but he can't find any way out of the prison he's constructed in his mind. The mirror never lies, indeed.
173. Face the Change (by INXS on the album The Swing, 1984): This is a kicky tune from one of the band's best albums, and it shows once again that Hutchence and the boys were a lot more than just new-wave-ish dance pop. Hutchence is telling us that things change, and that's nothing to be afraid of - we just have to accept it and make it a positive change. Of course, because it's INXS, you can dance to it, but it's a strong statement by the band and, consequently, a great song.
174. Factory Girls (by Flogging Molly (with Lucinda Williams) on the album Within A Mile Of Home, 2004): There's nothing fancy about this tune - it's just a straight-forward twangy pseudo-country song with the Mollies' Irish twist. It's a sad song about lost innocence, with that Irish nostalgia that makes dying in the potato fields sound wonderful, but Williams' raspy cigarette-and-whiskey voice grounds it, and the final verse, with the wistful longing for lost days, puts the whole song in context and pushes it to greatness.
175. Fade to Black (by Metallica on the album Ride The Lightning, 1984): I've never been a huge Metallica fan, but this album, and in particular this song, are simply brilliant. This is pretty much an ode to suicide, but it's still a haunting tune, made even more chilling by Hetfield's subtle growl, as if he wants to kill himself but first he's going to rip out your throat with his teeth. As with many Metallica songs, it starts off soft and builds slowly to an instrumental storm, but because it stays quiet for so long, the internal tension keeps you on the edge of your seat. As love letters for offing yourself go, it's brilliant.
176. Fading Lights (by Genesis on the album We Can't Dance, 1991): Genesis took a horrific wrong turn with Invisible Touch, and it seems as if they knew it, because they waited five years to release another album (their "last," even if Rutherford and Banks put one out in the mid-1990s), and it was a nice return to form for the band. Sure, it had its goofy tries for pop relevance, but Genesis was never about that and shouldn't have been about that. "Fading Lights" is a beautiful coda to this album and their career in general, as Phil sings about memories and how everything ends and it's okay. Halfway through the song, in true Genesis fashion, the boys launch into an extended instrumental jam that just reminds you how good they really are, and the song ends with Phil singing quietly, "And you know that these are the days of our lives ... remember ..." as the music floats off into the ether. A nice way to finish a nice career.
177. Fairytale Of New York (by The Pogues (with Kirsty MacColl) on the album If I Should Fall From Grace With God, 1988): This is one of those songs that has taken on a life of its own outside of just Pogues fans, probably because MacColl died young and it's a Christmas song. Those two factors make this a famous song, but it's a heart-breaking and ultimately wonderfully uplifting song about love and living together and making things better. MacGowan can really belt out a tune, and MacColl's humanizing touch to such lyrics as "You scumbag, you maggot, you cheap lousy faggot" make it a celebration as well as a tiny bit of a dirge. It's a beautiful Christmas song and a beautiful love song. And if you don't like The Pogues, then I weep for your lonely soul.
178. Faithfull (by Pearl Jam on the album Yield, 1998): In the early-to-mid-1990s, when Pearl Jam was the biggest band in the world, someone must have said something rude about their musical abilities, because they went out and made No Code, which was an interesting failure. Eddie and the gang got their heads back on straight and released Yield, which was a good old-fashioned rock-n-roll album. There's a lot to like on the album, but "Faithfull" [sic] is the highlight, even though Eddie's lyrics are somewhat oblique. Essentially it's a song about what we believe in and what this turns us into. Eddie decides he's going to be faithful to love, which is awfully sweet of him, and suggests we do the same. The music transcends the rather vague lyrics, and Eddie, as usual, howls with conviction, which is what we like to hear from our rock gods.
179. Falling to Pieces (by Faith No More on the album The Real Thing, 1989): When I first heard "Epic," I didn't like it, and this kept me from buying this album for a while. Silly me. This was the second single off the album, and it convinced me to check it out, and I'm glad I did. This is a fantastic song, from its thudding bass introduction to its weird light-hearted keyboard riff to Mike snarling the excellent lyrics: "Because I'm somewhere in between my love and my agony, you see, I'm somewhere in between - my life is falling to pieces ... somebody put me together." The rap part of the song doesn't overwhelm it, like it does a bit on "Epic," and it's much more comprehensible than that song. I absolutely love this song.
180. Famous Last Words (by Billy Joel on the album River Of Dreams, 1993): Another song that ends another "last" album, in this case Mr. Joel's (he's released a few since then, but none of original, "rock" songs). This is another one that really encapsulates a career nicely, from the rollicking yet slightly melancholy piano to the theme of everyone leaving the beach at the end of the summer and winter setting in. Joel has always had that element of lounge singer for the tourists in him, and here he acknowledges it. He gives us a moving tribute to better days and good times, while recognizing that it's time to move on. It's a great song, made nicer by the context in which it's presented.

So there's another batch of songs in the book. Be as cruel as you want in your criticism! We all know I am impervious!