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 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!