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!

Great songs, according to me (Part 23)

Just when you think I've given up on these ... I hit you with another ten songs! Can you stand the sonic goodness????

As usual, the archives: links to parts 1-15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 21, and part 22. And away we go!

221. Gone Daddy Gone (by Violent Femmes on the album Violent Femmes, 1982): For pure pop nastiness and snottiness, this may be the perfect album. The only clunker in the group is "Good Feeling," and even that is okay because it doesn't go on too long. I like all the songs, but "Gone Daddy Gone" is probably the best song on the album. Gordon sneers his way through the lyrics, and you know what puts it over the top to greatness: the xylophone solo! Yes, the xylophone solo takes a good song and makes it transcendent. Dare you argue with the xylophone solo? I thought not!

222. Grendel (by Marillion on the album Script For A Jester's Tear (remix), 1983, 1997): Lefty picked on me last time for having so many Marillion songs on this list, but the reasons for this are twofold: they're my favorite band in the world, so of course I think many of their songs are great; they've released 13 albums, so I have a large selection from which to choose. This song is one of their first, and although it's a bit rough around the edges, it shows the brilliance of Fish, their first lead singer, as well as the musicians around him. For about 18 minutes (the song is a bit long, I'll admit), we get a reimagining of the Beowulf legend from the point of view of the monster. It's a chilling song, and at the end, when "Grendel" himself is narrating and Fish's vocal becomes accusatory and shrill and he almost screams, "Why should I feel pity when you kill your own and feel no shame?" you feel almost like you're in some Danish hall and the fire is getting low. Very creepy, but effective.

223. Groove Is In The Heart (by Deee-Lite on the album World Clique, 1990): Deee-Lite flamed out relatively quickly, but their first (and best) album remains a fun one, and the first single from it remains possibly their best song. The lyrics are almost incomprehensible (I like succotash, but why would you wish for it?), but Bootsy's unbelievably funky bass line and Lady Kier's dippy vocals and Q-Tip guest-rapping ("Baby, just sing about the groove") and the smooth horns at the end make this not only a great dance song, but a great song period. You can't help but smile when you hear this song!

224. Hard To Handle (by the Black Crowes on the album Shake Your Money Maker, 1990): I know this is a cover, but I've never heard the original, so this version will have to do. I don't mind, though, because this version kicks much ass. Robinson's raspy voice is perfectly suited for this rough-and-tumble jolt, and it has that great guitar solo near the end to match the crunch in the beginning. Most of the Crowes' songs sound alike, but occasionally a few of them rise above the rest. This is one of them.

225. Haunted (by Shane MacGowan and the Popes (with Sinéad O'Connor) on the album The Snake, 1995): MacGowan is a weird little man. He's ugly as sin, he drinks waaaaaay too much, he has an awful voice, yet he creates compelling music, and can even crank out a nice love song if he's of the mind too. This album, his first post-Pogues release, features some decent songs, but this duet with O'Connor, whose ethereal voice contrasts very weirdly with MacGowan's gargling-with-dirt voice, is strangely great. It's a touching little song, and MacGowan gives it just enough despair that all great love songs should have. Weird, but great.

226. He Got Game (by Public Enemy on the motion picture soundtrack for He Got Game, 1998): It's probably a crime against nature and hip-hop that this is the only PE album I own. Yes, I know - heap your vitriol upon me! And it's not all that great an album, but the title track kicks ass. Yes, ASS! Chuck D is in fine lyrical form, rapping about the failure of religion and government and the power of l-u-v. Stephen Stills coming in at the end to sing the chorus of "For What It's Worth" is a bit bizarre, but you can't hear the actual chorus without getting chills: "It might feel good, it might sound little somethin', but fuck the game if it ain't sayin' nuttin'." Amen, Brother D, amen.

227. He Knows You Know (by Marillion on the album Script for a Jester's Tear, 1983): Yes, another Marillion song. Sue me. This is from Marillion's first album, and it's a terrifying little ditty about drugs and the toll they take. Rothery's guitar screeches through the song, shredding your nerves, while Fish recites the lyrics like an incantation: "Pumping arteries ooze their problems through the gap that the razor tore." Unlike a lot of very early Marillion, the grounded nature and ugly subject matter of this song make it more memorable than some of their other stuff. And Fish, despite a leaning toward opaque metaphor, keeps it relevant enough to really freak us out.

228. Heart Of The Sunrise (by Yes on the album Fragile, 1972): In the weird world of Yes, this might be their masterpiece. Other songs might be more popular, but "Heart Of The Sunrise" is quintessential Yes, and it never succumbs to the pretentiousness that so many other of their songs do. Anderson's high-pitched whine is used very well here, and the music builds and builds to a not-quite-unendurable climax, pushing us right to the edge of madness before Anderson warbles, "I feel lost in the city" and we slowly fade. A strange, early-1970s acid trip of a song, but a great one. It's too bad Yes felt the need on so many other songs to go too far. Oh well, at least we got a few great tunes out of it.

229. Heart-Shaped Box (by Nirvana on the album In Utero, 1993): This is the first single from Nirvana's last album, and it disappointed many people. I'm not sure why - this song, at least, fuses Kurt's "I wanna be a loser punk, damn it!" with Novoselic and Grohl's more pop sensibilities (Kurt's whining made him an icon, but without Krist and Dave, Nirvana would have been nothing and I guess Kurt would have been happy and alive). The lyrics are pure Cobain (brilliant) hate: "I got a new complaint, forever in debt to your priceless advice," but the bass underlying the screeching guitars keeps the song rumbling along, and Grohl's garage-band-drums add a nice touch of indy spirit to things. In Utero isn't the achievement Nevermind was, but it contains a bunch of very good to great songs, and it's kind of a shame that Kurt was such a drip. Growing up in Aberdeen will do that to you!

230. Heathaze (by Genesis on the album Duke, 1980): This song, like the album, mark a transition from the weird, 1970s-era Genesis to the poppy, 1980s-era Genesis. Even though this was Phil's fourth album as lead vocalist, the band still retained some of that Peter Gabriel weirdness, and even though they were moving toward more conventional fare, they were still writing songs that defied easy categorization. This song is about a hot day. Oh, but it's about so much more! The music suits the subject matter perfectly - languid and almost lazy, only occasionally showing a small spark, but it still drifts along beautifully. Meanwhile, Phil is singing ostensibly about the lethargy that comes from a humid summer day, but he's really singing about the torpor that affects us all and how we allow ourselves to get trapped in places that aren't good for us and remain there, slowly dying. "The trees and I are shaken by the same wind but whereas the trees will lose their withered leaves, I just can't seem to let them loose," sings Phil, and we feel his despair. He ends with "I feel like an alien, a stranger in an alien place," and the music swells briefly before fading like a dream. It's a beautiful and haunting song, and is followed ironically by "Turn It On Again," which became a staple of the arena tours Genesis went on when they became a supergroup. The juxtaposition is weird.

That's all for this time. Comments, questions, criticism, praise - it's all welcome! I can handle it all!