Great songs, according to me (Part 30)

300 songs that I think are great. I'm sure impressed with myself!

Let's link to the previous entries: 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, Part 28, and Part 29. Now, let's move on to the next 10 songs.

291. Interior Lulu (by Marillion on the album marillion.com, 1999): Marillion just released a new album, which is decent but not great. I didn't mean to have yet another Marillion song on this list just as they release a new album, it just worked out that way. "Interior Lulu" is a monster song, sprawling and jazzy and just a bit funky. It tells a tale of isolation even as the Internet allows us to "connect" but severs our link to the actual world. It's a sad song, but it never descends into gloominess. The music powers the song along, starting with a sly beat and a groovy bass line before becoming a cacophony in the middle section of the song, reflecting the spiral of madness our world has become. The heart of the song comes when Hogarth sings, "If you can break it, it's already broken," a heartfelt cry that yearns for meaning in a meaningless world. Not the most fun song in the world, but a powerful statement nonetheless.

292. International Bright Young Thing (by Jesus Jones on the album Doubt, 1991): Doubt is a good album, helped by some stellar songs, of which this is an example. It has a great groove, and although the lyrics aren't anything fantastic, Edwards does give us a wry critique of pop culture even as he indulges in some funky dance music. It's a great song to play loud and bop your head to. There's nothing wrong with that!

293. Is it Too Late? (by World Party on the album Goodbye Jumbo, 1990): As usual with a great many World Party songs, this has a strong environmental bent to it, and unlike some of Wallinger's tunes, it doesn't get overwhelmed by it. The song has a nice exotic flavor to it, with almost dreamy music and oddly surreal lyrics. Wallinger sings about rescuing the world and ourselves, and does so without beating us over the head. At the end, when Wallinger whispers about the elephant's graveyard, it's slightly chilling, which is a nice way to end the song.

294. Is This Desire? (by PJ Harvey on the album Is This Desire?, 1998): The final song on Harvey's weakest album yet has nothing to apologize for. Despite the uneven quality of the other songs, this somewhat breathless paean to yearning for more in life is a nice coda. Harvey always seems to come up with at least one gut-wrenching song on every album she releases, and this one stands with her best. Her vocals, which are muted on almost every other song on the disc, come through with the power we expect from Polly Jean. It's a wonderful call for positive emotion in a world that doesn't have enough of it, and it almost redeems the entire album.

295. Istanbul (not Constantinople) (by They Might Be Giants on the album Flood, 1990): Great songs don't necessarily have to be all that meaningful, and so it is with TMBG's cover of this old Jimmy Kennedy/Nat Simon tune. It's a perfectly lightweight song about, well, the name change of the great city on the Bosporus (which isn't really a name change, since "Istanbul" is, as far as I know, simply the Turkish version). TMBG's version is very fun, though, and the violin and accordion bring a nice Turkish flavor to the song. It's a quick piece of musical wonderfulness, and that's all it needs to be. Why did Constantinople get the works? Well, that's nobody's business but the Turks.

296. It Can Happen (by Yes on the album 90125, 1983): Although in the 1980s Yes left the 20-minute opera behind to concentrate on money-grubbing, "It Can Happen" remains a magnificent song, with Jon Anderson in fine high-pitched form and the rest of the band (whoever they were at this point) soaring with him. It's a wonderful melding of vocals and music, and when Anderson wails, "There's a crazy world outside, we're not about to lose our pride," we feel both his despair and his hope. Yes fell too quickly into the just-another-rock-band category (you may not have liked their 1970s noodlings, but at least they were weirdly unique), but this is a nice blast at glory before they landed.

297. It'll Probably Make Me Cry (by Mary's Danish on the album There Goes The Wondertruck ..., 1989): Another song by the criminally underrated Mary's Danish (whose first two albums, including this one, are brilliant), this one is sort-of country, with a nice twang by Julie Ritter (again, I'm assuming it's Julie, even though they have two female singers) and weepy lyrics. Like all there other songs, however, they sell it well, and we feel the pain of loss and the power in the relatively simple lyrics. A wonderful heartfelt song on a great album.

298. It's a Mistake (by Men At Work on the album Cargo, 1982): I probably still have this album on LP, because I'm so old-school. What a fun band Men At Work were, and occasionally, they wrote really brilliant songs. This tune, which has a bit of a Dr. Strangelove vibe to it (at least from the lyrics), also has that hauntingly bizarre music that complements the paranoid lyrics very well. Colin Hay's odd Aussie vocals give the lyrics a wry component that makes the song both more chilling and more ironic. Great stuff.

299. It's Raining Men (by The Weather Girls, 1982): What can I say? It's one of the greatest disco songs ever. And the subject of a very funny sequence in The Simpsons: Moe gets angry at Homer and tells him he's taking Homer's favorite song off the jukebox. Homer, aghast, cries, "It's Raining Men!" and Moe answers, "Not no more it ain't" and hurls the 45 out the window, where it passes through an open car window and hits Smithers in the head. He can't believe his luck! I also played this for my students in the spring of 2002 and a fellow teacher and I sang along at the top of our voices. Needless to say, my students thought I was very odd. I don't care.

300. Jerusalem (by Steve Earle on the album Jerusalem, 2002): In a complete tonal shift, we get the title track of this very good album. Earle sings a simple song about the violence in the Middle East and his hope that things will get better. Earle, despite a seemingly bleak outlook in the short-term (he doesn't like Bush), is often upbeat when thinking about the future, and this song is a perfect example. At the end of the song, he sings, "And there'll be no barricades then, there'll be no wire or walls, and we can wash all this blood from our hands, and all this hatred from our souls." It's a song that looks to a point where we can live together in peace, and Earle gravelly voice does a much better job of selling it than if he were smoother.

Look at that - another ten songs in the books. Feel free to let the vitriol fly when you tell me I know nothing about music!

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!