Great songs, according to me (Part 32)

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

Now for the next ten on the list!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great songs, according to me (Part 31)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great songs, according to me (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!

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!