Great songs, according to me (Part 32)

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

Now for the next ten on the list!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great songs, according to me (Part 26)

Well, I'm trying to get back into a good groove with blogging, because I've been posting pictures of Egypt for so long, and it's been a good long time since I subjected everyone to my favorite songs. What else do you have to do in the middle of January than read my opinions?

As always, here are the rest of them: Parts 1-15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, and Part 25. But that's in the past, man - let's move on!

251. I Better Be Quiet Now (by Elliot Smith on the album Figure 8, 2000): Elliot Smith killed himself a little over three years ago, and the tragedy is made even worse, possibly, when you go back and listen to his songs and realize what a mess he was. It's still great music, but one wonders why people close to him didn't see it coming. This song is an example, as Smith's lighter-than-air vocals float over barely-there music, singing a beautiful song about not taking any chances and simply fading away. Like a lot of Smith's songs, it simply exists for a few minutes, then disappears, like a dream that you want to recapture but can't. Kind of like Smith himself.

252. I Can't Explain (by The Who on the album Who's Last, 1984): Speaking of not being able to explain, this song doesn't seem to appear on any album until 1984, even though it was one of the band's earliest singles. It didn't show up on their first album, for instance. That's weird. Anyway, this may have been the first Who song I ever heard (or the first Who song I heard and knew it was The Who) and it's still a great one. It's simple and powerful, with all the jangly Sixties guitar that makes those songs memorable and Daltry whining those lyrics in front of the horrible back-up vocals (really flat are the boys). The back-up vocals don't ruin the tune, though, which is just one of those trademark singles from back in the day. Sing along!

253. I Could Have Lied (by the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the album Blood Sugar Sex Magik, 1991): I'm not sure if I've written about my love/hate relationship with this album. It's too long, and contains some truly awful songs, and I really wish the Peps had cut about half of it to make a really tight rock album, but they didn't. Boo, Anthony and Flea! But this song about lost love is very nice, and Anthony's lyrics, despite the soulful way he sings, cut into you harshly, as all songs about lost love do. Musically it's not on par with some of the other Peppers' stuff, but this album marked the beginning of the band's move toward more middle-aged rock, and although a lot of what they've released since then has been coma-inducing, this song, with its cruel little edge, makes the subsequent ones pale in comparison.

254. I Don't Want That Kind Of Love (by Jesus Jones on the album Liquidizer, 1989): This is Jesus Jones' first album, before they blew up in 1990, and although it's not as good as Doubt, it's still a pretty decent disc. This song, with its rumbling bass and disco feel, keeps you bopping your head, and Mike Edwards' smooth vocals combined with the rather snide lyrics get under your skin (in a good way). A neat little song.

255. I Don't Want To Be Alone (by Billy Joel on the album Glass Houses, 1980): This is one of those songs that Billy Joel does really well - slightly funky (yes, funky) but smooth enough for radio play, and those lyrics sung with a kind of tired resolve that this is the way the world is and we need to muddle through as best we can. It seems like an upbeat song about two people forgetting past mistakes and getting back together, but it's not really - it's simply about people grabbing a moment even though they know it won't lead anywhere. Both of them have hurt and been hurt, but for the moment, it doesn't matter. A sweet yet ultimately sad song - the best kind!

256. I Don't Want To See The Sights (by the Charlatans on the album Between 10th and 11th, 1992): This album is one of those hidden classics, and this song, which kicks it off, sets a great tone for the rest of the disc. It starts with a crunchy guitar that brings us in and doesn't quite rock, but gets you bobbing your head with its groovy rhythm. It's actually a depressing song, as we're treated to a sight of gray despair in England, but the lyrics also offer a way out - we can make things better for ourselves, if we only want to. And isn't that a nice message?

257. I Hear A Symphony (by The Supremes on the album I Hear A Symphony, 1966): I'm not sure if I've ever spoken of my love for the Supremes on the blog, but I love them. They are, in my mind, the perfect Motown group, and their songs are simply fantastic, even the weirdo ones ("Dr. Goldfoot And The Bikini Machine" - really?). This is just a standard Supremes love song, but that doesn't matter - it's just great! Admit it! Bow down to Lady Diana! Those smooth vocals blending - "Whenever you're near I hear a symphony" - how can you resist? Answer: you cannot!

258. I Held Her In My Arms (by the Violent Femmes on the album The Blind Leading the Naked, 1986): After their first album, the Femmes had a bit of an uneven career, but I really like this, their third offering, and this song is a big reason why. It begins with horns, and we expect a jazzy, upbeat kind of thing, but Gordon's lyrics bring us back down - "I can't even remember if we were lovers or if I just wanted to, but I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms, I held her in my arms but it wasn't you." Because the music remains jumpy and fresh throughout, the lyrics bite deeper, and even though they're not super-duper profound, they have a nice emotional impact. Fine stuff from the snotty Milwaukee punks.

259. I Melt With You (by Modern English on the album After the Snow, 1983): Yes, we should all know this song from Valley Girl, with the most excellent Nicolas Cage, but man! it's a good song. I bought the album long ago and listen to it seldom, even though it has plenty of good tunes on it, but this song stays with me. It has that great New Wave sound, with the keyboards substituting for other instruments, but still sounding great, and those great lyrics: "Moving forward using all my breath, making love to you was never second best." Of course, when they stop and hum for a while, before kicking it back up with the great chorus, that just seals the deal. Fine, fine music.

260. I Remember You (by Steve Earle on the album Jerusalem, 2002): For a country singer with a raspy voice, Steve Earle writes some damned fine love songs, and he sings them with some damned fine emotion. And he gets Emmylou Harris to sing duets with him, which makes them even better (I really have to get some Emmylou Harris albums, don't I?). This song begins with Earle's growly voice, and then Harris' twang, and then they both sing, and they make beautiful music together. They both invest such longing in relatively simple lyrics that we're swept along, and we root for these two to get back together. Well, the people in the song, not Steve Earle and Emmylou Harris. I don't really care who they hook up with.

So there we have another ten songs. Yes, I'm slow with these. I've lost all my readers, so it doesn't really matter, does it? Although I would like to thank Eddie for his Christmas gift, which was unexpected. He sent me a couple a mix CDs and some treats, and if I could find his e-mail address anywhere I would thank him that way, but I can't. So thanks, Eddie! I hope you had a great holiday!

Anyway, thoughts are welcome, as usual. How kooky is my taste in music? You can tell me!