Great songs, according to me (Part 35)

It's another list of ten songs I happen to think are great. And we know that I am the arbiter of all that is great!

Check out the previous posts: the archive of Parts 1-15, Parts 16-30, Part 31, Part 32, Part 33, and Part 34. And now here's the next group!

341. Love Removal Machine (by The Cult on the album Electric, 1987): This song is probably the high point of The Cult's first "hard rock" album, although there are other good songs. This song rises above partly because the hard-driving music is so strong, but also because Ian Astbury liked what he did on this song so much he ripped himself off in later songs! This established the Cult "formula" for the next few albums, and when Astbury sings, "Baby baby baby baby baby I fell from the sky" to start the second verse, it's a triumphant moment in the history of metal. Yes, I just wrote that! Deny it at your peril!

342. Love 2 The 9's (by Prince on the "symbol" album, 1992): Prince is pretty frisky on this album, and he gets even more so on this song, which features a nice jumpy beat that slides into a sleazier groove as the lyrics get dirtier. The early part of the song is even a bit transcendent, as Prince sings, "This is the only kind of love that I've been dreaming of, the kind of love that takes over your body, mind, and soul." Then he gets down a bit, yearning for a "lover with a body that says some mo'" and that he's looking for an "ass piled high and deep you see." Yes, Prince can pile on the raunch as much as anyone. The "questionnaire" section of the song, where an associate of Prince's interviews "Arabia" to see if she can "make that booty boom" is very funny, and Prince winds up the song with, really, a paean to spiritual love, if you can believe it. The great thing about Prince's songs is that we actually believe he's looking for a soul mate even when he wants a girl who can make the booty boom. That's his genius!

343. Love You 'Till The End (by the Pogues on the album Pogue Mahone, 1995): The final Pogues albums has some very good songs, none better than this ballad that is simply about what it says in the title. There's a simple yet effective mandolin/guitar riff, and Spider Stacy sings with emotion and love. The lyrics, like the music, are simple but powerful when sung with the right attitude, and they speak to a deep love that cannot be denied: "Why don't you just take me where I've never been before; I know you want to hear me catch my breath." It's a beautiful song and makes you feel happy to be alive.

344. Love's Recovery (by the Indigo Girls on the album Indigo Girls, 1989): I like this song so much we played it at our wedding. It's a quiet love song, building to a triumphant climax, and it speaks to those who refuse to accept love they find right in front of them. The bridge is a powerful cry for non-conformity, and then the final verse arrives at the victory of the heart: "Tell all the friends who think they're so together that these are ghosts and mirages all these thoughts of fairer weather. Though it's storming out, I feel safe within the arm of love's discovery." The Indigo Girls have written a lot of love songs, but none as good as this.

345. The Luckiest Guy On The Lower East Side (by the Magnetic Fields on the album 69 Love Songs (vol. 1), 1999): There are many great songs on 69 Love Songs (as you may know, if you've read these posts before), and although this is a bit corny, it still has a wonderful goofiness that makes it so very memorable. It has a nice, bouncy melody that has a weird tinny organ-grinder sound to it, and Stephen Merritt's vaudevillian lyrics add to the fun: he's the luckiest guy because he has "wheels," and the girl, who is admired by many men better than he, wants to go for a ride. Of course, at the end, we learn he only keeps the "heap" for that reason. It's a love song, sure, and plenty of fun at that.

346. Mama (by Genesis on the album Genesis, 1983): Genesis was the first album I bought on my own with my "own" money, back when I was 12 (I didn't have a job, so it wasn't really mine, but I didn't ask my mother to buy it for me). Yes, I was a bit late in getting into music, but that's just the way it is. I owned a few albums prior to this on, but this cassette really had a huge impact on me and shaped a lot of what I like about music. This isn't the greatest Genesis album, but "Mama" is brilliant, beginning the album with that haunting keyboards that Phil would use on some of his own songs, and then the creepy lyrics: "I can't see you mama, but I know you're always there ..." As the song builds, suddenly we get the stop and the terrifying laughs and the thumping drums. The best part of the song is when Phil gets a bit wistful in the middle section, singing "You're taking away my last chance, don't take it away ..." 24 years after I heard it for the first time, this still has a powerful effect on me. And then I heard "Illegal Alien." Sigh. I guess they can't all be great!

347. Mama Said Knock You Out (by LL Cool J on the album Mama Said Knock You Out, 1990): Man, I love this album, and the title track. We get the grooving beat and the chanting in the background, then the broadcaster announcing Cool J's "triumphant comeback" before L himself steps on his words with "Don't call it a comeback, I been here for years!" Then we get an overwhelmingly bad-ass celebration of LL's awesomeness, delivered with hard snarls and over-the-top exaggeration. All the lyrics and the delivery are great, especially when LL sneers, "Just like Muhammed Ali they called him Cassius," as he draws out the "a" in "Cassius." Watch him bash that beat like a skull, indeed, LL. What a great song.

348. Mamma Mia (by ABBA on the album ABBA, 1975): Yes, it's the basis for a musical that has taken over the world, but don't hold it against the song, which is a great early tune from the Swedish quartet. We get a peppery keyboard and a rolling guitar, and the ladies start singing a somewhat poignant song about failing to ditch someone who's bad for them. "Even if I say leave me now or never, it's a game we play, doesn't mean forever" they sing in the chorus, and although they stay light-hearted in tone, the lyrics and a subtle shift in their voices speak to the sadness behind the "game." It's a deeper song than people expect - much like a lot of ABBA songs!

349. Man Of A Thousand Faces (by Marillion on the album This Strange Engine, 1997): The first song on this uneven album is very strong, with an acoustic beginning that builds slowly to a swirling finish. It's a song about a universal presence, a man who is behind the scenes at every great event in human history: "You see my face in the stones of the Parthenon, you hear my voice in the babble of Babylon." Hogarth is in good form here, triumphant when he's boasting and cajoling, but able to shift to a more soothing voice when he "speak[s] to machines with the voice of humanity." It's the best song on the album, and sets a nice tone.

350. Many Too Many (by Genesis on the album ... And Then There Were Three, 1978): This is from an album before Genesis became a supergroup, so Phil isn't obnoxious yet and the band's progressive roots haven't been lost in a grasp for chart success. This ballad is a quiet song that takes you along slowly but surely, and when Phil gets to the chorus, he adds a plaintive cry for freedom from the romantic snare in which he's caught. When he sums up the relationship with "You set me on a firmly laid and simple course, and then removed the road," we know we're listening to a great song, and not a 1980s Collins schmaltz-fest. It's a shame that he decided that dollars were more important than dignity. Oh well.

Another nice list of great songs. Music is groovy!

Great songs, according to me (Part 34)

Hey, I'm back with another ten songs that I think are great! Study them well, for when I am named dictator of the world, there will be a test! Bone up on the previous songs: Parts 1-15, archived, Parts 16-30, archived, Part 31, Part 32, and Part 33. Now, onto the next ten!

331. Little Guitars (by Van Halen on the album Diver Down, 1982): I've mentioned this album before, because it's chock full of cover songs that for some reason get played on the radio and really good original songs (e.g. "The Full Bug") that nobody has ever heard of unless they own the album. This song, for instance, begins with a nice little Spanish guitar intro, and then David Lee and the boys launch into a somewhat sweet song about a sexy senorita. There's actually some nice longing in Roth's vocals as he sings, "I can see you don't know which way to turn but the sun still shines/Don't you know that you can dance with me anytime." Eddie, of course, is in fine form, finishing the song with a bouncy pluck-fest that's pure Van Halen, and it's just a breezy, brilliant tune. So why do radio stations always play their lame cover of "Dancing in the Streets"?

332. Little Suzi (by Tesla on the album Mechanical Resonance, 1986): Tesla isn't a very good band, but they have a few transcendent songs, and this, off their first album, is one of them. It's a simple song with that jangly guitar that metal bands sometimes use to "be more real," and it has your typical "girl looking for fame" lyrics, but for some reason, it works. There's an undercurrent of despair that makes the song, which ostensibly is uplifting, much sadder. On an album (which is probably Tesla's best, not that that's saying much) full of mediocre hair metal, this song stands out. Bizarre.

333. Living With The Big Lie (by Marillion on the album Brave, 1994): Hey, it's a Marillion song! Who would have guessed? This song, the first "real" song on Marillion's "comeback" album (there's a brief prologue song, and this is a comeback because their previous album was probably their worst), is a marvelous tune about a child getting beaten down by the world and learning to indeed live with the big lie. Steve Hogarth has never been the lyricist the band's first singer, Fish, is, but he does a fine job here, painting a picture of innocence and despair, followed by resignation. The song starts quiet as the child sees his home life fall apart, then bursts into a cacophony of screeching noise as the child grows up. The music is suited well to the lyrics, and as it fades, with Hogarth singing "I got used to it," we feel the bleakness in his voice. Sure, it's depressing, but it's still powerful.

334. Looking Through Patient Eyes (by P. M. Dawn on The Bliss Album ...?, 1993): A somewhat upbeat tune (for P. M. Dawn, that is) is next on the list, as Prince Be smoothly raps his way through a love song that, as the title suggests, calls for patience. As with many P. M. Dawn songs, there's a subtle spiritual element to it, and the lyrics are typically weird but still give us a reason to feel hopeful. It's right there in the opening couplet: "Whatever it is I do, I try to think about you, I have a love for you that nothing hides." How sweet. A great song on a wonderful album.

335. Loose! (by Prince on the album Come, 1994): This was Prince's "death of" album, where he burns off songs so that he can get out of his Warner Bros. contract and start recording under his weird sigil. Therefore, many people consider this a pretty poor Prince album, but there are a lot of good songs on this album, with "Loose!" a great example. It's just a raucous rocker, but Prince is so ebullient when he sings that it makes the song better than it should be. Plus, we get a funky and fun guitar solo, part of the thudding beat that drives the song along. It's a song you can't help but dance to. Even Prince's lesser albums are full of great songs!

336. London You're A Lady (by the Pogues on the album Peace And Love, 1989): October 4 was the 25th anniversary of the first Pogues' gig, at a pub in London. Interesting. Anyway, this song, which ends their fourth album, in a fairly typical Pogues ballad, with a rollicking Irish beat and Shane MacGowan's odd nostalgic/bitter lyrics: "Your heart of gold it pulses between your scarred-up thighs." As usual with Pogues songs, part of the allure of the song is in MacGowan's barely intelligible growl, and we really get the sense of a man trolling the dark places of a living city and refusing to get beaten down.

337. Lordy Lord (by Stress on the album Stress, 1991): I have mentioned this short-lived band and their one album before, and this is one of the few songs on it that I consider great (even though I enjoy the album). The psychedelic influences of the band are on full display, with some lush instrumentation, changes in tempo, and a yearning in the lead singer's voice (it might be Wayne Binitie, but I'm not sure) that's tough to fake. It's a cool song on a neat album, one I thought was out of print. However, you can find it on Amazon, if you're interested.

338. Lost Cause (by Beck on the album Sea Change, 2002): Sea Change, the wonderful change of pace by Beck, features a lot of moody, brooding songs, none better than this song, which takes its time moving, but is heartbreaking throughout. The person to whom Beck is singing is indeed a "lost cause," and he's tired of fighting for it. It's more than just a faded love song, though: Beck points out that it's part of where the person lives, part of the society, and that makes it harder to let go. It's a tragic song about misunderstanding love ("No one left to watch your back now ... That's what you thought love was for") and giving up because of it. Beck's beautiful low-key vocals help make the words more powerful, too. He's not sad, just resigned, and that makes the song even sadder.

339. Love (by The Cult on the album Love, 1985): The Cult is such an odd band, as they went from their first two albums (this was their second), which featured some weirdly ethereal music with lots of production, to a stripped-down heavy metal band with Electric in 1987. I like both incarnations, although the metal got old quickly, and wonder why they did it. This album was pretty popular, thanks to "She Sells Sanctuary," but this song is also a very strong track. it actually has a bit of the heavy thump we find on later Cult albums, even though it's a bit drenched in jangly guitars and keyboards. But Ian Astbury does a good job with the simple lyrics, and the chorus is a primal howl, and the song works much better than it probably should. But why the shift in tone?

340. Love Buzz (by Nirvana on the album "Bleach", 1989): I honestly can't remember the last Nirvana song I had on this list, even though I love the band. They just didn't release enough albums, I guess. But this short tune from their first album is great despite the paucity of lyrics - there are only five lines of words in the song, as Cobain repeats the one verse twice and repeats one line for the chorus. However, his slurring delivery, along with his nerdy je ne sais qua that he often has in songs, makes it an interesting song. Of course, the music on this album is somewhat rough, but the talent is certainly there. This is an interesting album not because it's all that good, but because of the potential there, and sometimes, as with this song, we can see why Nirvana exploded a couple of years later.

How about those songs, eh? Let me know if I'm just kooky or if I actually know what I'm talking about!