1001 Songs
1001 Songs
1001 Songs
SONGS
YOU MUST HEAR BEFORE YOU DIE
Preface
Introduction
Chapter 1: Pre-Fifties
O sole mio
St. Louis Blues
Allons à Lafayette
Lágrimas negras
Pokarekare
St. James Infirmary Blues
El manisero
Minnie the Moocher
Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl
Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?
Mal hombre
Hula Girl
Can the Circle Be Unbroken (By and By)
Cross Road Blues
Hellhound on My Trail
Strange Fruit
Over the Rainbow
The Gallis Pole
Mbube
Java Jive
Gloomy Sunday
Guantanamera
God Bless the Child
Stormy Weather
Rum and Coca-Cola
This Land Is Your Land
Lili Marleen
(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66
Al gurugu
La vie en rose
La mer
White Christmas
Good Rockin’ Tonight
Nature Boy
Saturday Night Fish Fry
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry
Contributors
Acknowledgments
PREFACE
By Tony Visconti, Record Producer and Musician
In the beginning there was the single, a stand-alone recording of a song. The
phonograph, invented by Thomas Alva Edison in 1877, had a cylinder, slightly
larger and thicker than the cardboard core of a toilet roll, that stored about two
minutes of music or recitation—that was the limit of the medium. Made of wax
compounds, cylinders lasted for just a few dozen plays, until they were worn
smooth. As for the sound, it was tinny and awful, degenerating more with every
playing. Cylinders made of plastic, a superior medium, later became the standard
and lasted longer, although the music still sounded as if it was recorded in a
chip-frying factory. Undismayed, the public was hooked on buying singles.
Edison was smiling all the way to the bank when an upstart inventor, Emile
Berliner, introduced a new form of recording and playback medium: the flat
platter. Revolving at seventy-eight revolutions per minute, the disc came in basic
black, just like Mr. Ford’s Model T. Berliner could argue that his platter
produced a superior sound (it did), and also that it offered an additional two
minutes of music on its reverse side. Despite the obvious merits of Berliner’s
invention, Edison foolishly defended his cylinder format to the point of
bankrupting his company as he tried to maintain its status as the only recorder in
town. Berliner not only defeated Edison (as did Nikola Tesla, the inventor of
alternating current), he also invented, inadvertently, the musical B-side—but
more about that later.
My father, Anthony, was an avid collector of singles. As a boy I would
watch his 78s spin at a dizzying speed and try to freeze the label with a blink of
my eye. Music poured out of our record player—short jazzy tunes by the Glenn
Miller Orchestra, the Dorsey Brothers (Tommy and Jimmy), close-harmony
singing by The Pied Pipers (lead singer Frank Sinatra), even Egyptian singles
sung in Arabic from Arab immigrant shops on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn. I
would observe Dad’s ritual of sliding a precious black shellac-based disc out of
its sleeve and carefully placing it on the turntable, see the delicate descent of the
tone arm into the lead-in grooves, and breathlessly anticipate the moment when
the loud scratchy surface noise suddenly became music—this was an experience
I would relive countless times in my life, despite having been told not to even
think of touching my dad’s records or his record player.
I had to learn the hard way to respect this delicate recording medium. At the
age of four I was suddenly inspired to hold the brittle10-inch shellac discs
parallel to the floor, release them, and delight in seeing them smash into many
small pieces. I had decimated a serious part of his collection in the space of five
minutes when my not very well padded posterior became the recipient of several
hard whacks, accompanied by a flood of tears, not just from me but from him,
too.
On a brighter note my father loved comical music records. In the 1940s he
gleefully played me the surreal parodies of contemporary pop songs by
bandleader Spike Jones and his City Slickers. My favorite was the comic song
“All I Want for Christmas Is My Two Front Teeth,” in which the tooth-whistling
singer (trumpeter George Rock) made me laugh by the way he sang the word
“Christmas,” enunciating both S’s with a canary-like trill. But when I heard
Jones’s “Cocktails for Two,” I instinctively knew that the band could not play
their instruments and produce those garish sound effects at the same time (I was
already a young and enlightened ukulele player). Something fishy was going on
in the studio and I wanted to know what it was and how to do it. Suffice to say,
I’ve spent countless hours in recording studios since then, trying to perfect the
arcane art of doing something fishy!
The first record I bought for myself was Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill.” By
this time I was responsible enough to operate Dad’s phonograph, and I played
the shiny black 78-rpm single until I had memorized every nuance, from the
eight solo piano notes of the intro to the snare-drum flourish that brings the last
dying chord to an abrupt halt. I played the second side even more, because I
never heard that song on the radio. The B-side was “Honey Chile,” sung with
such a thick New Orleans accent (for me at the time) that I couldn’t decipher the
first line of the song, although I memorized it phonetically. This single was my
property, my cultural property! It was a wonderful start to my small collection of
78-rpm singles, which grew to include “Tutti Frutti” by Little Richard and
“Flying Saucer” by Buchanan and Goodman (I was still enjoying comical
music). I would play these three records (and the B-sides) incessantly after
school, and often my dad would come home from work and bellow: “Shut that
damn record off!” My father’s music was my music, but my music was not my
father’s music—clearly!
Shortly after I started the addictive hobby of record collecting, I became a
victim of the now all-too-familiar format wars. Almost unbreakable vinyl was
the new medium, with a durable surface that could stand the wear and tear of the
tone arm to a far greater extent than its predecessor. Vinyl singles were smaller
and more compact than shellac, and many of them fitted into a highly portable
box with a little plastic handle that I still own. I was an only child, and my 45s
were my constant companions. I bought singles by my singing guitar heroes:
Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly, Buddy Knox, and Mickey (Baker) &
Sylvia (Vanderpool), whose “Love Is Strange” (B-side “No Good Lover”) was
the epitome of guitar tone. Working on my guitar, I gleaned everything I could
from Mickey “Guitar” Baker’s style by playing that 45 over and over again. In
1957 I met my hero outside the stage door of the Brooklyn Paramount. Mickey
and Sylvia were on the bill, playing up to six shows a day. Mickey, who was
rushing out after the morning show, probably to get a cup of coffee and a
jellyroll donut, kindly stopped and signed my album sleeve. He even gave me a
guitar pick, which I kept in my wallet for several years until I used it at a gig and
broke it.
My earliest 45s were “That’ll Be the Day” (1957) by Buddy Holly & The
Crickets; “You Can’t Catch Me” (1956) by Chuck Berry—although I fell more
in love with the captivating B-side, “Havana Moon”; “All Shook Up” (1957) by
Elvis Presley; “Let the Good Times Roll” (1956) by Shirley and Lee; “To Know
Him Is to Love Him” (1958) by The Teddy Bears (Phil Spector’s debut as a
group member and a producer); “A Rose and a Baby Ruth” (1956) by George
Hamilton IV (and I memorized every word of the B-side, the verbose rockabilly
song “If You Don’t Know”); and an extremely obscure pre-psychedelic version
of “Muleskinner Blues” that was renamed “Good Morning Captain” (1956) by
Joe D. Gibson. But eventually it was the singles of the British Invasion of the
1960s—The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Zombies, and one single in
particular by The Who, “Happy Jack”—that collectively extracted me from New
York City and transplanted me to London Town, where I learned how to make
singles for T. Rex, for starters.
That extremely fertile period of early progressive rock ’n’ roll makes up
about 50 percent of my musical DNA. The singles, the smell of vinyl, the
colorful labels with their cryptic messages (the writers’ surnames in parenthesis,
the serial numbers, the legal warnings) are part of me; they are what made me
who I am and what I do. Sure, at about this time the record companies made
larger 12-inch vinyl discs that ran at 33 rpm, but they were for grown-up Doris
Day fans and were way too expensive for kids. I hardly ever bought albums
because even then there didn’t seem to be any value in re-buying the same
singles and B-sides just to get the few quickly recorded songs that filled the
remaining space, the “fillers.” When I bought a single from an artist I loved, I
got maximum bang-for-buck value, such as “Oh Boy” by The Crickets with the
amazing “Not Fade Away” on the B-side. The record biz called a single a “unit”;
to me, it was a unit of sheer pleasure.
Eventually the album, with its longer-duration “album cuts,” was embraced
by pop artists who wanted to express more depth and nuance without being
subjected to the commercial pressure that record labels exerted when it came to
singles. In the United States during the Seventies, the single was forced to take a
back seat when FM radio stations boldly played entire LP sides. The popularity
and prestige of the rock concept album was peaking, and radio singles served
merely as adverts for albums (even though a hit single didn’t always ensure a hit
album). But I continued to buy singles because some were “orphans” that did not
appear on parent albums; others had enigmatic B-sides, such as the irrelevant
“Tandoori Chicken,” the flip side of Ronnie Spector’s “Try Some, Buy Some.”
However, the vinyl LP, followed by the album-length CD and then the
Internet download, changed the way people buy their music. In 1001 Songs You
Must Hear Before You Die, you will find many of the songs that I collected as
singles, alongside many that were released as album tracks and which people can
now download in single form. Now, more than ever, people can decide for
themselves which songs they want most, and which they think deserve to be hits.
Yet singles, and particularly 45s, not only played a profound revolutionary
role in music and culture, they also changed a draconian business model. Until
the end of the Sixties, all standard recording contracts stated that the company
was entitled to withhold up to 10 percent of the artist’s royalties for “breakage,”
even though from the mid Fifties very durable 45s and 33s were the only form of
music delivery. When Andrew Loog Oldham, manager of The Rolling Stones,
was renegotiating a contract for his clients with Decca Records, he insisted that
the 10 percent breakage clause be removed. When the label executive asserted
that the obsolete clause (from 78-rpm days) was “standard,” Oldham took a 45
(disc, not revolver) from his coat pocket, slammed it on the executive’s desk
with great force, and challenged him to “break that!” The clause does not exist
anymore.
Finally, why are most 45s black, even today? The chemicals that make up
vinyl are essentially clear but in the manufacturing process the discs easily
became discolored with impurities. The alternative to maintaining a clean
factory is to add coal dust to the formula, turning the vinyl black. I know, many
people have a record in red, blue, green, yellow, or even transparent clear vinyl,
but these are really expensive to manufacture, and, I assume, were made in a
pristine, germ-free, dust-free factory high in the Swiss Alps by a James Bond
villain.
On a more serious note, you really must buy, beg, steal, or borrow the 1001
songs recommended in this book. I don’t know if I’ll ever accomplish that, but
as the title suggests, I will die trying.
It’s hard to believe that five years have passed since 1001 Albums You Must
Hear Before You Die first hit the shelves. Putting together that selection of
premier LPs of rock and pop proved a real challenge, prompting heated debates
among the creative team behind it—and among readers, of course. If anything,
this time the challenge was even harder: choosing 1001 essential tracks from
popular music’s rich and impossibly varied heritage. For starters, musical
preferences can be hopelessly subjective and are prone to regular revision.
You’ll probably come to the end of this book and decide you’d have opted for a
very different choice of 1001 songs. And you’re not alone: over time, I’d
probably do the same.
So, where to start? Well, from the outset, by way of sharpening our focus a
little more, we restricted ourselves to songs that have lyrics. So, no instrumentals
are included—which means Jimi Hendrix’s “The Star-Spangled Banner” will
have to wait for another book. Even so, the choosing proved a Herculean task,
with wish lists being constantly revised, left-field song selections giving way to
more familiar fare (and vice versa), and, naturally, more of those heated debates.
Unsurprisingly, although my name is emblazoned on the front of 1001 Songs
You Must Hear Before You Die, this has been a highly collaborative effort, with
input from all the writers, the editors, and the publishing houses that issue this
book worldwide. The latter, in particular, have been instrumental in broadening
the scope of 1001 Songs to include key tracks from a host of different countries
and cultures. It’s a big world out there, but it’s getting smaller all the time, with
Western musicians borrowing freely from non-Western artists and styles—and
influencing their own music in turn.
We hope you’ll find a grab bag of unexpected musical pleasures in these
pages alongside the better-known hits. The book kicks off with “O sole mio” and
ends with tracks released in the few months before our publishing deadline. In
between, you’ll be able to trace the growth of jazz and the blues, and the
evolution of R&B and western swing into rock ’n’ roll. You’ll sample the
infinite riches of the Great American Songbook and witness soul music bloom
into exhilarating statements of black consciousness and pride in the Sixties and
Seventies. You’ll encounter highlights of French chanson, Portuguese fado,
Spanish flamenco, Caribbean calypso, and Latin American bossa nova. And
along the way you’ll uncover fascinating stories about extraordinary songs and
their equally extraordinary performers. How Fela Kuti’s incendiary Afrobeat
brought the wrath of the Nigerian military down on his head. How the morbid
reflections of a Métro conductor gave Serge Gainsbourg a hit. And how
R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe didn’t always know what his own lyrics meant.
Indeed, among the beauties of a book such as this is the fascinating trivia it
throws up. Often, the most remarkable revelations have concerned not so much
the household names who became famous for singing these songs, but those
working in the shadows. This seems an appropriate moment to honor one of
them, so step forward Hal Blaine, a genuine legend in the world of popular
music. As a session drummer, and a member of the famous Wrecking Crew
studio band, Blaine has played on more hits than any of his peers during the rock
era. And while we’re handing out plaudits, The Funk Brothers are due their
share. As Motown’s in-house band from the end of the Fifties to the start of the
Seventies, they backed a firmament of stars, including Marvin Gaye, The
Supremes, Stevie Wonder, The Temptations, and Martha & The Vandellas—all
of whom you’ll find in these pages.
I’d like to finish this introduction with a few words about our presentation of
the 1001 entries in this book. The dates that we provide for each entry are for the
first appearance of the version of the song under discussion. This isn’t always
the same as the date of its first release as a single, of course, as sometimes tracks
appear on albums before getting a life of their own as a single.
Alongside the details you’d expect to find for each song, we’ve often added
some extra information at the end of each entry. The symbol indicates a song
that may be seen as influential on the song in question; the symbol suggests a
song that this song may, in turn, have influenced. In some instances, the
influence is widely acknowledged—often by the songwriters themselves—and
commonly accepted. In others, however, the degree of “influence” is sometimes
fairly subjective. We are certainly not suggesting that the artists intended the
songs to sound similar. Look on this feature of the book, rather, as playful
speculation that suggests a shared musical heritage between two tracks—then
seek out the songs themselves and see if you think we’re near the mark or
hopelessly wide of it. Finally, toward the end of the book you’ll find a long list
of songs that are also worthy of your attention—and which, in an alternative
1001 Songs, might well have been covered in more detail. All told, that brings
the total number of songs listed in this book to the 10,001 mark!
We have endeavored to keep up-to-date with changing writing credits—for
example, where names have been retrospectively added to songs featuring
samples—so they may not match those on the original releases. Where possible,
credits have been cross-checked against the ASCAP and BMI databases, but we
welcome corrections for future reprints of this book.
But, in the words of Spinal Tap’s Marty DiBergi: enough of my yakkin’.
These songs have changed the world. Find out why. Then listen to them.
Pre-1950s
• Bessie Smith has a major hit in 1925 with “St. Louis Blues”
• Musical films supply song standards, such as 1939’s “Over the
Rainbow”
• Bing Crosby releases the top-selling movie song “White Christmas” in
1942
• Columbia Records introduces the 33-rpm LP in New York in 1948
• Hank Williams raises the profile of country music with a series of hits
Contents
O sole mio
St. Louis Blues
Allons à Lafayette
Lágrimas negras
Pokarekare
St. James Infirmary Blues
El manisero
Minnie the Moocher
Need a Little Sugar in My Bowl
Brother, Can You Spare a Dime?
Mal hombre
Hula Girl
Can the Circle Be Unbroken (By and By)
Cross Road Blues
Hellhound on My Trail
Strange Fruit
Over the Rainbow
The Gallis Pole
Mbube
Java Jive
Gloomy Sunday
Guantanamera
God Bless the Child
Stormy Weather
Rum and Coca-Cola
This Land Is Your Land
Lili Marleen
(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66
Al gurugu
La vie en rose
La mer
White Christmas
Good Rockin’ Tonight
Nature Boy
Saturday Night Fish Fry
I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry
Pre-1950s
O sole mio
Enrico Caruso (1916)
Just as Charley Patton and Robert Johnson made their Mississippi Delta
universal, Enrico Caruso has lent Naples a status that the richer and more
celebrated Italian cities of Rome and Florence can never hope to match. The
tenor singer had a beautiful voice and became one of the world’s first superstar
entertainers.
Caruso is the great icon of canzone napoletana (Neapolitan song), and “O
sole mio” remains the city’s anthem—an epic ballad that effortlessly blends
popular song and opera. The masters of canzone napoletana can be regarded as
forefathers to the Sinatra/Martin axis; indeed, Caruso was the original role model
for all male ballad singers. His version of “O sole mio” builds and broods with
great Neapolitan character. Despite Caruso being one of opera’s greatest tenors,
it is this anthem of his home city that most listeners know him by.
“O sole mio” translates as “my sun,” and the song begins by celebrating a
sunny day, before moving on to unfold as a great love song. It was popular
before Caruso recorded it (the song was written in 1898), but Caruso’s recording
popularized the song internationally. His rendition of it at New York’s
Metropolitan Opera was so well received that audiences demanded he sing it
ever after. Both in concert and on vinyl, Caruso helped make “O sole mio” a
standard—and effectively turned it into an alternative Italian national anthem.
GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
“St. Louis Blues” was, and remains, a phenomenon—a fully composed (rather
than traditional hand-me-down) blues song that became a massive hit. W. C.
Handy wrote it in 1913, at a time when there were no charts to register a song’s
popularity. Yet some measure of its success comes from the income it generated
through sheet-music sales. For more than forty years, the song brought in an
annual sum of around $25,000, making Handy a multimillionaire by today’s
reckoning.
The song has been recorded by many blues and jazz musicians, but no finer
version exists than the one by Bessie Smith. Accompanied by just Fred
Longshaw on harmonium and a magisterial Louis Armstrong on cornet, Smith
mournfully relates the tale of how her love has run away with a chic St. Louis
woman. Handy said he was inspired to write the song after meeting a woman in
St. Louis bemoaning the absence of her husband. “Ma man’s got a heart like a
rock cast in da sea,” she remarked—a line Handy wrote into the song.
Handy’s skill is evident in the way in which he alters the traditional twelve-
bar blues structure by introducing a sixteen-bar bridge in the habanera rhythm—
an irregularly accented beat known as the “Spanish Tinge”—after the second
verse. It adds contrast to the simple blues refrain and transforms the song into
one of the most heartfelt laments of the century. SA See all songs from the Pre-
1950s
Pre-1950s
Allons à Lafayette
Joe & Cléoma Falcon (1928)
On April 27, 1928, Joe Falcon and his wife, Cléoma Breaux, were recorded in
New Orleans performing the clever two-step Cajun dance number “Allons à
Lafayette” (Let’s go to Lafayette). This was the first ever recording of Cajun
music, and its success surprised the young American music industry by proving
a demand for Louisiana swamp music.
The Cajuns are a French-speaking people descended from French settlers
deported from the area around present-day Nova Scotia by the British in the
mid-eighteenth century and refugees from Haiti who fled the slave revolt of
1791. Their distinct language and culture (and residence in the Louisiana
bayous) kept them largely apart from mainstream America, yet their dynamic
music—a mix of traditional seventeenth-century fiddle tunes and influences
from the German and African settlers they were forced by location to mingle
with—went on to create a uniquely American hybrid. Cajun music has
influenced both country music and rock ’n’ roll, and given birth to a black
French music called zydeco.
Joe and Cléoma shaped their sound playing local dances. Joe played the
accordion, while Cléoma played striking percussive guitar. Both took turns at
singing. This recording, with its suggestive lyric and swinging groove, made
them very famous among their fellow Cajuns. Heard eighty years on, Joe and
Cléoma still swing. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Lágrimas negras
Trio Matamoros (1928)
One of the most influential groups in the development of Cuban son, Trio
Matamoros were founded in Santiago de Cuba in 1925 by guitarist and singer
Miguel Matamoros. Matamoros also wrote their songs, which combined
sophisticated but accessible lyrics with simple, unforgettable melodies. One of
his most famous and enduring compositions is “Lágrimas negras” (“Black
Tears”).
Matamoros was inspired to write the lovesick meditation on rejection when
he overheard a woman crying near the residence where he was staying while
visiting Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. He first
composed it as a tango, but the version he recorded is considered to be the first
example of a new genre, a fusion of son and bolero, called, understandably,
bolero-son.
Covers of the song include a feverish, jazzy instrumental by pianist Angel
Rodrígues and versions by Cubans Compay Segundo and Omara Portuondo. In
2003, a radical revision of “Lágrimas negras” became the title track of an
inspired collaborative album between veteran Cuban pianist Bebo Valdés and
the rising Gypsy singer Diego El Cigala. Acknowledging the influence of
Andalusian Gypsy music on that of Cuba, El Cigala improvises new lyrics in his
vital, sobbing wail of a voice, and there is a lovely alto sax solo by Paquito
D’Rivera. The album was a huge hit in both Spain and Latin America and won a
Latin Grammy. JLu See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Pokarekare
Ana Hato (with Deane Waretini) (1929)
Those who only know Louis Armstrong as the singer of hits such as “Hello,
Dolly!” and “What a Wonderful World” are often unaware that in the 1920s he
was the most innovative figure in jazz. Armstrong was a musical revolutionary, a
trumpeter who stepped out from the ensemble playing of the band to become the
first great improvising soloist in jazz history.
He was also a singer, with a fine, deep voice that is heard to great effect on
this classic song. It is based on an English folk song that tells of a sailor who
spends his money on prostitutes and dies of venereal disease in St. James’s
Hospital, London. By the time Armstrong recorded the song, in 1928, the action
had shifted to America, and related the tale of a man going to the hospital to find
his girlfriend dead. As a traditional song, its author is long forgotten, although it
is sometimes credited to Joe Primrose, a pseudonym for Irving Mills.
The Hot Five who perform here were, in fact, a sextet of piano, trombone,
two clarinets and saxophones, banjo, and drums. They start with a funereal
instrumental introduction, before the melody kicks in at mid-tempo. Earl Hines
then lays down a light-fingered, honky-tonk piano solo before Armstrong, in all
his majesty, sings the two verses of the song. A trombone solo follows until
Armstrong plays out with a strong trumpet. Not a note is wasted. SA See all
songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
El manisero
Don Azpiazú & His Havana Casino Orchestra (1929)
“Ma-ní!” is the cry that opens the song that kicked off the worldwide “rumba
craze” in the early 1930s. During the previous decade, street vendors in Havana
advertised their peanuts that way, with a jingle-like pregón. When songwriter
Moisés Simón fused this idea with son—an umbrella term for Cuba’s folkloric
styles—he created “El manisero.” His authorship has been disputed, but the song
made him rich; sheet-music sales (then very important) topped a million copies,
as did those of the 78.
Cuban starlet Rita Montaner recorded the first version, in 1928, but the one
that took the world by storm was by Don Azpiazú & His Havana Casino
Orchestra, with vocals by Antonio Machín. They cut it in May 1930, just after
arriving in New York. There it became the biggest-selling song of 1931, and was
also a hit in Japan and Europe.
Perhaps its most lasting influence was in West and Central Africa. Azpiazú’s
imported 78s, then labeled as a “rumba fox-trot,” went down so well there that it
is thought this is how the rumba congolaise got its name. For the rest of the
century, “El manisero” was required repertoire for any large African “orchestre”
in that enormous region.
“El manisero” has been recorded more than 160 times, with notable versions
by Louis Armstrong (1931) and Stan Kenton (1947): a testament to the influence
of Latin music on American jazz. JLu See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
The “Hi-de-hoh Man,” as Cab Calloway was known, was one of the most
successful big-band leaders of the 1930s, famous for his flamboyant
performances. He was particularly renowned for his scat singing—that is, his use
of nonsensical, ad-libbed words—for example, the “Hi de hi de hi de hi” refrain
from “Minnie the Moocher” that gave him his nickname and first brought him
fame.
“I forgot the lyric to another song that I was doing and I put in skee-tee-tuh-
bee and the hi-de-hos and it became very effective,” Calloway recalled in later
years, speaking of his most famous song. “And then I sat down and wrote
‘Minnie the Moocher.’” Musically and lyrically, the song was based on Frankie
“Half-Pint” Jaxon’s “Willie the Weeper” from 1927, which was performed by
Bette Davis in the movie The Cabin in the Cotton (1932). It tells the tale of
Minnie the Moocher, a good-time girl who was rough and tough but had “a heart
as big as a whale.” The song abounds in drug slang: Smokie, the man Minnie
messed around with, was “cokey,” or did cocaine, while in Chinatown, he
“showed her how to kick the gong around,” or smoke opium.
The song was an immediate and huge success, selling in excess of a million
copies. The septuagenarian Calloway revived the song to charming effect in The
Blues Brothers (1980), and it’s still great fun today. SA See all songs from the
Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
At first blush, one might think that Bessie Smith was singing a song in the vein
of Ray Henderson’s perky composition “You’re the Cream in My Coffee” from
1928, a straightforward you-complete-me metaphor structured around popular
condiments. Yet as the chorus’s second line (“Need a little hot dog between my
rolls”) makes manifest, it is in fact an example of the under-the-counter subgenre
known as dirty blues. The likes of Sippie Wallace’s “I’m a Mighty Tight
Woman” (1929) were not adorned with patronizing “parental advisory” stickers,
presuming that the listener was underage: they were performed by adults, for
adults.
Smith’s languorous performance on “Need a Little Sugar” makes it clear that
this is a sensual woman with genuine needs and desires. Backed by only the
polite tearoom piano of Clarence Williams (her first accompanist in 1923,
playing here on one of her very last recordings for Columbia), Smith holds forth
with a stentorian delivery based on that of her mentor, Ma Rainey—a voluptuous
bellow designed to play up to the primitive microphones of the period. In the
hands of the Empress of the Blues, the innuendo becomes a metaphor of
touching tenderness.
It’s worth remembering that the dirty blues also gave us the euphemism
“rock and roll”—a phrase that resurfaced, to world-changing effect, as the name
for the illegitimate child of the blues. SP
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Socialist by birth and nature, New York lyricist Yip Harburg was deeply
affected by the mass unemployment and endless breadlines that became all too
familiar in the United States after the Wall Street Crash in 1929. “Brother, Can
You Spare a Dime?” crystallizes the despair of those dark days in the story of an
Everyman who had helped build the nation’s railroads and skyscrapers and
fought its wars, but was now reduced to panhandling on the streets. There is
anger and bemusement in the lyrics, the tone moving from the general to the
personal: “Brother” becomes “Buddy,” as the narrator tries, and fails, to awaken
the memories and sympathies of his audience. “Say, don’t you remember?” he
pleads finally, with heartbreaking pathos, “I’m your pal!”
Written for the musical Americana, it stunned audiences, overshadowing the
rest of the show. (“Plaintive and thundering,” applauded the New York Times.)
Al Jolson and Rudy Vallee both covered the number, but it’s Bing Crosby’s
version that has lasted. Crosby was intensely moved by the song and delivered a
mellifluous vocal, lilting and understated but becoming progressively more
urgent, more vibrant, in those poignant end lines.
Seven years later, Yip Harburg captured the zeitgeist once more with “Over
the Rainbow,” a wistful recasting of the American Dream—battered but still
standing. RD
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Mal hombre
Lydia Mendoza (1934)
Lydia Mendoza is one of the great pioneers of American music and a legend of
Mexican music. Born in Houston, Texas, in 1916 to a Mexican family who had
fled the chaos of the Revolution, she and her siblings were never sent to school.
Instead, they performed with their mother on the streets and in the fields,
busking to survive.
From an early age, Lydia showed herself to be a remarkable singer and
player of the twelve-string guitar (she also played mandolin), and by 1934 she
was celebrated in San Antonio, Texas, as a street singer and radio performer.
This success led to the independent label Blue Bird recording her and issuing
“Mal Hombre” (Bad Man) as her first 78. Lydia had learned the lyric of “Mal
Hombre” from a bubble-gum wrapper (a novelty marketing promotion of the
time) and set it to music. It is the tale of a ruthless womanizer, which Lydia sung
stridently, providing her own sturdy accompaniment on twelve-string.
The song immediately struck a chord with listeners. It was her first—and
greatest—hit, taking off right across the U.S. Southwest, making Lydia a star,
and kicking off a Mexican-American recording boom in the process. Buoyed by
her success, Lydia got on the road and crisscrossed the United States—and later
Mexico, Colombia, and Cuba—her bell-like voice and resonant guitar-playing
marking her out as a true original. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Hula Girl
Sol Hoopii (1934)
Hawaiian music proved to be the first “world music” craze after it was
introduced to the U.S. public at the San Francisco–Panama–Pacific Expo, in
1915. At the Expo, the grass-skirted dancers and Ki ho’alu (“slack-key”)
guitarists set off a craze in the United States for all things Hawaiian. While much
of this was down to novelty kitsch, the lyrical Hawaiian guitar sound proved
hugely influential. Mexican and Portuguese immigrants had brought guitars and
ukuleles to Hawaii, and the indigenous Polynesian populace had retuned them,
creating the slack-key guitar style. This involved playing the guitar in open
tuning on your lap while sliding a steel instrument across the strings, and was
developed in Hawaii in the late nineteenth century. Slack-key’s resonant sound,
especially its ability to suggest a droning, weeping effect, would prove a strong
influence on blues (as slide guitar) and, especially, country music (as lap-steel
guitar).
Sol Hoopii was the greatest slack-key guitarist of the 1920s and ’30s. He
brought in jazz influences and was technically brilliant in his use of chords,
harmony, and phrasing. The tuning he developed led to the emergence of the
pedal-steel guitar that would become omnipresent in country music. The
bubbling “Hula Girl” finds Hoopii’s genius at its finest: joyful, jazzy rhythms
topped off by the fabulous excursions of his melodic, expansive solos. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
In the 1920s and ‘30s, Alvin Pleasant “A. P.” Delaney Carter; his wife, Sara; and
her cousin Maybelle laid the foundations of country music and bluegrass one
brick at a time, and each tune is as vital as the next to the integrity of the
structure that stands today.
When the Carters recorded “Can the Circle Be Unbroken (By and By)” in
1935, they were already recognized trailblazers in the infant music industry. This
farming family from the Appalachian Mountains had scored a few hits in the late
1920s, but had also succumbed to the afflictions of the Great Depression. Their
haunting tales of want, loss, and faith provided the accompaniment to millions of
shattered lives, not least their own.
A. P. was the restless innovator, rambling across countless miles of dusty
plains and pastures to find and “work up” the folk songs of the day. Sara and
Maybelle were the talent, devising rhythmic and melodic guitar stylings—the
“Carter scratch”—that would be imitated for all time.
The Depression also saw the collapse of A. P. and Sara’s marriage. Adapted
from a hymn by Ada R. Habershon and Charles H. Gabriel, “Can the Circle Be
Unbroken” finds a mournful son at his mother’s funeral, imploring the
undertaker to “please drive slow.” But A. P.’s vocal tells another story—one of
abandonment and fear that fuses love and loss. “Lord,” he cries, “I hate to see
her go.” MO
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Writer | Robert Johnson Producer | Don Law Label | Vocalion Album | N/A
Hellhound on My Trail
Robert Johnson (1937)
Writer | Robert Johnson Producer | Don Law Label | Vocalion Album | N/A
So little is known about Robert Johnson that trying to untangle the myths from
the facts becomes a fool’s errand. How did he go from the pedestrian guitarist
routinely laughed at by Son House and Willie Brown to the finest bluesman they
had ever heard—in less than two years? How did he die? Where is he buried?
This, of course, is just the way the devil would want it. Johnson may or may not
have sold his soul at the Mississippi intersection of highways 61 and 49, but in
life he was a man on the run and in death he’s a reminder that the blues can be a
supernatural force.
We do know that Johnson cut “Hellhound on My Trail” in Dallas, Texas, on
June 20, 1937, during his second and final recording session. The vision of
Satan’s hounds emerging to drag sinners to hell was prevalent in Southern
churches, and to listen to Johnson’s eerie, piercing tenor and the turbulent
striking of his strings, it seems clear that he wasn’t evoking them for mere
rhetorical effect. As he recounts in the song, Johnson lived the life of a nomad,
traveling up and down the Delta to perform his innovative style of bottleneck
guitar. “I got to keep moving, I got to keep moving Blues falling down like hail,
blues falling down like hail And the day keeps remindin’ me, there’s a hellhound
on my trail.” According to witnesses, Johnson became violently ill on August
13, 1938; the Delta-blues king died three days later. MO
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Strange Fruit
Billie Holiday (1939)
“Strange Fruit” began life not as a song but as a photograph. When high-school
teacher Abel Meeropol saw an image of two black men hanging from a tree,
ringed by a crowd of white onlookers, he was moved to pen a poem protesting
against the lynching of African-Americans by white vigilantes. “Southern trees
bear a strange fruit,” wrote Meeropol, nodding to the scale of the problem in the
Deep South but seemingly unaware that the photograph had been taken in the
northern town of Marion, Indiana.
Meeropol’s poem came to the attention of Billie Holiday, who added the
song to her repertoire. Her first attempt at recording it fell foul of executives at
Columbia Records, for whom the subject proved a little too hot to handle. But
rival label Commodore stepped in where Columbia feared to tread. And, despite
the best efforts of some radio stations, which refused to play it, and concert
promoters, who stopped the singer from performing it, Holiday had an unlikely
hit on her hands.
Meeropol’s poem and Holiday’s recording are deeply affecting, their
message amplified by the simplicity of its transmission: a twelve-line extended
metaphor filtered through an unvarnished vocal and a stark accompaniment. The
song’s influence has been profound, but it’s still not heard often on the radio.
“Strange Fruit” remains a deeply discomfiting listen. WF-J
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
It’s hard to imagine the movie without it now, but “Over the Rainbow” almost
got dropped from The Wizard of Oz. After a preview screening, executives at
MGM demanded that the song be removed on the grounds that it slowed down
the action. Only the forceful intervention of Arthur Freed, a former songwriter
then carving a new path for himself as a movie producer, kept the ballad in the
picture. It later won the Oscar for Best Original Song.
The tune had come to Harold Arlen while he was driving along Sunset
Boulevard in Los Angeles on his way to the movies. Lyricist Yip Harburg didn’t
immediately take to it. But when Arlen, acting on the advice of Ira Gershwin,
sped it up a little and thinned out its ostentatious harmonies, Harburg was
convinced, and went on to write a lyric with a dramatic arc that beautifully
mirrored the rise and fall of the melody.
The song has since been recorded by singers as notable as Tony Bennett and
Aretha Franklin; Arlen himself even had a crack at it, albeit with a voice as flat
as Kansas. But it’ll always belong to Garland, whose own off-screen existence
came to embody the song’s mix of wide-eyed optimism and desperate
melancholy. As Harburg put it, “Her whole life, almost like a Dostoevsky novel,
seemed to fit this beautiful little child’s song that had color and gaiety and
beauty and hope . . . and yet she was so hopeless.” WF-J
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Writer | Huddie Ledbetter, Alan Lomax Producer | John Lomax, Alan Lomax
Label | Library of Congress Album | N/A
Huddie Ledbetter’s violent, mythic life has fascinated listeners ever since
folklorists John and Alan Lomax first discovered him as a prisoner of
Louisiana’s notorious Angola Penitentiary in 1934. By then, Lead Belly had
already supposedly sung his way out of prison once, but his violent temper found
him locked up again. When the Lomaxes came through looking for singers
supposedly “uncontaminated” by the modern world, they were hugely impressed
by this big black man who played twelve-string guitar and knew literally
hundreds of songs (including “The Gallis Pole,” an old English ballad he had
seemingly learned off hillbilly musicians and adapted). In the 1939 recording,
Lead Belly builds up a busy rhythm on his guitar, over which he tells the tale of
a condemned man desperately asking his loved ones if they have brought gold,
silver, and other bribes to keep him from hanging.
Lead Belly became friends with, and an influence on, such American folk
pioneers as Woody Guthrie, Josh White, Pete Seeger, Sonny Terry, and Brownie
McGhee. Ironically, it was a young white audience who adopted his music—he
sounded too “old fashioned” to win over much of black America. While alive,
Lead Belly was never rich or famous, but his songs became hits for Lonnie
Donegan and The Beach Boys, and entered the repertoire of many others. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Mbube
Solomon Linda & The Evening Birds (1939)
“First the Zulu man made magic. Then white man made money. This is the
secret history of . . . one amazing melody.” Thus begins Rian Malan’s Rolling
Stone article “In the Jungle” (2000). The melody: South African musician
Solomon Linda’s “Mbube.”
“Mbube” ’s history is clouded by cultural exploitation. The story starts in
Eric Gallo’s Johannesburg studio, where migrant Zulu musician Linda and his
group, The Evening Birds, were paid ten shillings for their original song. With
its ecstatic a cappella vocals and haunting melody, “Mbube” (“Lion”) was an
instant hit, selling 10,000 copies in the Forties. A decade after its release, the
record found its way to American folk musician Pete Seeger, who was enchanted
by its Zulu refrain, which he misheard and turned into the pop hit “Wimoweh.”
In 1961, George David Weiss, Hugo Peretti, and Luigi Creatore added smoother
arrangements and exotic lyrics, copyrighting what became “The Lion Sleeps
Tonight.”
Despite being “lionized” in South Africa, where he is regarded as the
founder of Zulu choral (or Mbube) music, Linda died a pauper in 1962, he and
his estate having received almost none of the royalties the song generated
(including an estimated $15 million alone from its use in Disney’s The Lion
King). It was only in 2006, under threat of legal action, that publishers Alibene
Music agreed to a financial settlement with Linda’s heirs. MK
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Java Jive
The Ink Spots (1940)
Long ago, before sex ‘n’ drugs ruled rock ‘n’ roll, The Ink Spots found time to
sing in praise of the more innocent stimulation offered by the coffee jug.
The quartet first formed in Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1934. With their trademark
ostinato guitar intros, and vocal harmonies as warm as a mug of steaming java,
they rapidly became a crossover success with black and white radio listeners
across America, even touring in the United Kingdom later the same year. They
were to prove immensely influential on a host of famous R&B close-harmony
outfits, perhaps most famously The Platters.
The original lineup of Orville “Hoppy” Jones, Ivory “Deek” Watson, Jerry
Daniels (replaced by tenor Bill Kenny), and Charlie Fuqua underwent many
changes, and there was considerable animosity between ex-members. None of
that turbulence can be heard in the group’s sweetly melodious recordings,
however, which showcased what Melody Maker described as “beautifully
balanced and exquisitely phrased vocalisms.” “Java Jive,” a caffeine fad song
written in 1940 and recorded by The Ink Spots in July of that year, is fittingly a
little peppier than the band’s hypnotic lonesome-heart ballads. Its smart
wordplay is couched in smooth harmonies and topped off with a playful vocal
from Watson—who ironically had once performed in The Percolating Puppies;
their “instruments” included coffee pots. JD
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Gloomy Sunday
Billie Holiday (1941)
Pop music thrives on myths, and one of the most enduring surrounds the song
penned in 1933 as “Szomorú Vasárnap” by Hungarian composer Rezső Seress.
To his captivatingly plaintive melody—influenced by Magyar nóta, a Hungarian
hybrid of Gypsy music and coffeehouse repertory—Seress paired lyrics by
László Jávor portraying a heartbroken soul on the point of no return.
Translated for Western ears, “Gloomy Sunday” was first recorded in 1936 by
Hal Kemp & His Orchestra. It has attracted covers from the likes of Paul
Robeson, Serge Gainsbourg, Elvis Costello, and Björk, though its definitive
reading came from Billie Holiday. To mournful, muted accompaniment from
Teddy Wilson & His Orchestra, Holiday’s sweetly sad delivery—almost
coquettish at times—draws out the seductive pull and tug of the melody, and the
defeat in the lyrics. Ending it all sounds beguilingly appealing.
The words, written by Sam Lewis, added the chilling line “Would they be
angry if I thought of joining you?” implying suicide—something left vague in
the original. Many radio stations, including the BBC, banned it outright.
Bizarrely, over the years the song became associated with a string of genuine
suicides.
Rezső Seress remained bemused by his song’s unsettling reputation, right up
to his death in 1968. He committed suicide. RD
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Guantanamera
Joseíto Fernández (1941)
Guantánamo is notorious for reasons other than music nowadays, but back in the
Thirties, it became synonymous in Cuba with the most widely recognized Cuban
song of all time. Almost everyone knows the tune and words of the chorus,
which are also those of the original title. This may refer to a “woman from
Guantánamo” or perhaps to the style itself, the guajira, a type of Cuban country
music.
José Fernández Diaz (the stage name came later) composed the song in 1928,
basing the words on a poem by celebrated Cuban nationalist José Martí. Actually
from Havana, not Guantánamo, Fernández’s own group debuted on the radio
station CMCQ in 1935, using “Guajira Guantanamera” as their theme tune and
improvising décimas (ten-line poems) to the melody. This was in the style of the
punto guajiro, developed during the early eighteenth century by Cuban peasant
farmers of Spanish descent.
It wasn’t until 1941 that Fernández recorded the song as “Mi biografia” (My
Biography). From 1943, he sang it on another station, using it as a template for a
news and gossip slot. By the time the show was axed, fourteen years later, the
tune was ingrained in Cuba’s collective psyche. Yet it was only when U.S. folk
icon Pete Seeger recorded it in 1962, during the Cuban Missile Crisis, that the
rest of the world caught on. JLu See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Stormy Weather
Lena Horne (1943)
Stormy Weather the movie is a musical loosely based on the life of its main star,
the dancer Bill “Bojangles” Robinson. Robinson plays Bill Williamson, a dancer
returning home from the war in 1918 and trying to launch his performing career.
His invented love interest is a singer named Selina Rogers, played by Lena
Horne. The short movie—only seventy-eight minutes long—was released to
great acclaim in July 1943. It was notable for showcasing many of the top
African-American performers of the time, including Cab Calloway and his band,
and pianist Fats Waller, who died a few months after its release.
“Stormy Weather,” the song that lent its title to the movie, is a decade older,
written in 1933 by Harold Arlen, with lyrics by Ted Koehler. It was first sung by
Ethel Waters at the Cotton Club in Harlem. Lena Horne recorded it in 1941 for
RCA Victor, but in 1943 re-recorded it for the film soundtrack.
“Stormy Weather” is a song of disappointment and regret, the singer pining
for her absent man. The bad weather acts as a metaphor for her feelings: “Don’t
know why there’s no sun up in the sky Stormy weather Since my man and I ain’t
together / Keeps rainin’ all the time.” Unsurprisingly, the song has been much
loved by torch singers and drag queens ever since. Noteworthy cover versions
have been recorded by Judy Garland and Billie Holiday, among many others. SA
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
During World War II, around 20,000 U.S. GIs were stationed in Trinidad,
ostensibly to deter any invasion. Unhappy with the situation, a local musician
using the stage name of Lord Invader commented on this “American social
invasion” in a calypso titled “Rum and Coca-Cola.” The song is a ribald exposé
of the informal prostitution that took place (“Both mother and daughter /
Workin’ for the Yankee dollar”). “Rum and Coca-Cola” was both the
servicemen’s preferred tipple and a metaphor for the “mixing” of the two
cultures. Lord Invader had based the melody on a tune called “L’année passée,”
copyrighted by Lionel Belasco, another Trinidadian calypsonian. His song, in
turn, was based on a folk tune from nearby Martinique.
The track was a huge hit in Trinidad in 1943. In 1945, a very similar-
sounding song by The Andrews Sisters—with the same title, general subject, and
even some of the same lyrics—became the biggest-selling song in the United
States. It was credited to the writer Morey Amsterdam and two business
associates. The Andrews Sisters’ version makes light of the issues raised by
Lord Invader and is sung in hammy faux-Trinidadian accents. In an ensuing
court case, it was found that Amsterdam, who had visited the island when Lord
Invader’s hit was current, had indeed infringed copyright, and Lord Invader won
an undisclosed sum in compensation. JLu See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
First recorded in 1944, Woody Guthrie’s most influential song was actually
written some four years previously as a response to Irving Berlin’s “God Bless
America,” which Guthrie felt was trite. “This Land Is Your Land” has since
become regarded as an alternative “Star-Spangled Banner.”
Guthrie matched his original lyrics to large parts of the melody of The Carter
Family’s “Little Darlin’, Pal of Mine,” a technique he often used to increase the
appeal of his songs. Given the economic climate of the 1940s, the song was most
popularly sold in a hand-printed booklet with nine other songs and a selection of
illustrations for twenty-five cents. This made the song hugely popular among
those struggling with financial hardship and the effects of World War II.
The rousing nature of the lyrics has led to the song being championed as a
folk protest song across the world. As is often the case with folk songs, the lyrics
have been adapted to reflect different times, and geographical references have
changed to reflect the local environment. Popular versions include those sung in
India, Canada, and the Republic of Ireland.
In January 2009, Bruce Springsteen and—longtime friend of Woody Guthrie
—Pete Seeger performed the song together at the inauguration of U.S. President
Barack Obama at Washington D.C.’s Lincoln Memorial. CR
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Lili Marleen
Marlene Dietrich (1945)
The song “Lili Marleen” was first recorded in 1938, but its lyrics were written
much earlier, in 1915, when Hans Leip, a young German soldier, attempted to
express the nostalgia he felt while enduring that era’s political upheavals. His
poem was originally entitled “Das Mädchen unter der Laterne” (“The Girl Under
the Lantern”); her name, Lili, was that of his girlfriend, and also that of a nurse
he knew during World War I.
When Leip’s work appeared in a collection of poems in 1937, composer
Norbert Schultze set about turning it into a song. It was recorded by popular
German singer Lale Andersen in 1939, but initially made very little impact.
However, all that changed when German Forces Radio started broadcasting it to
the Afrika Korps in 1941. The song’s wistful romanticism struck a chord with
both Germans and Allied soldiers (who were listening in), and English versions
of the ballad were hurriedly recorded. Remarkably, both sides ended up
broadcasting the song in both languages.
This unexpected cultural rapprochement was perfectly epitomized by the
song’s most famous singer, the German Hollywood actress and staunch anti-
Nazi Marlene Dietrich. She became synonymous with the song, performing it for
U.S. infantrymen “for three long years in North Africa, Italy, Alaska, Greenland,
Iceland, and in England,” as she later recalled. DaH
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
While driving from Pennsylvania west across the United States to Los Angeles,
the composer Bobby Troup came up with the idea of a song about the road he
was then driving on, Route 66. He soon had the melody and title, although the
lyrics proved trickier. Eventually, he settled on an itinerary of the towns along
the road, from St. Louis and Joplin, in Missouri, to Flagstaff, in Arizona. He then
backtracked east slightly so that we “don’t forget Winona,” before heading west
again to San Bernardino in California and journey’s end.
Troup wrote the song for Nat King Cole, whose trio had a big pop and R&B
hit with it. “Route 66” celebrates the freedom of the road and, in the direction
the road takes, the “manifest destiny” of the American people to settle their
continent from coast to coast. Construction of Route 66 began in 1925 and the
road was fully operational by 1932, initially running for 2,448 miles (3,939 km)
from Chicago across the country to Los Angeles. It linked the rural south with
the industrial cities of the north, but also the sunshine towns of California.
Cole’s version of the song is lightly swinging, piano-led jazz, topped off with
a characteristically stylish vocal, though others—notably Chuck Berry and The
Rolling Stones—turned it into an R&B classic. As for the road itself, Route 66
has been replaced by interstate highways and other major roads and is now
largely disused. SA See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Al gurugu
La Niña de los Peines (1946)
Born in 1890 to a poor Gypsy family in Seville, the capital of Andalusia, Pastora
Maria Pavón Cruz developed into the first major flamenco star of the twentieth
century. Today she is widely regarded as the greatest female flamenco singer
ever. Nicknamed “La Niña de los Peines” (the girl with the combs) early on, she
began singing as a child to help support her family. Her voice’s power and harsh
timbre attracted attention beyond the Gypsy community, however, and soon the
likes of the poet Federico García Lorca and the guitarist Andrés Segovia were
championing her artistry.
At a young age, La Niña began touring Spain, and her first recordings were
made in 1910. Fittingly, she married the great flamenco singer Pepe Pinto;
fleeing the Spanish Civil War for Argentina, they returned in the 1940s to Spain,
where she continued her career. “Al gurugu” is regarded by flamenco
connoisseurs as one of the defining recordings of flamenco’s golden dawn.
The song’s title is a nonsense term comparable, say, to “doo-doo-doo.” It
works primarily as a vocal effect, around which La Niña improvised lyrics such
as “My husband’s left me all alone / He’s gone to war in France.” Backed by
flamenco guitar and palmas (hand claps), “Al gurugu” displays La Niña at the
height of her powers and stands as an intense performance of cante jondo (deep
song). Here lives flamenco’s raw Gypsy soul. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
La vie en rose
Edith Piaf (1946)
La mer
Charles Trenet (1946)
Charles Trenet was among the most respected and loved French artists of his
generation. Yet despite crafting more than a thousand evocative chansons during
his six-decade career, the singer-songwriter is most famous outside of his native
country for one track—the symphonic classic “La mer.”
A larger-than-life character, Trenet was initially known as “the Singing
Madman,” thanks to his exuberant stage presence and eccentric persona.
Combined with his carefree and quirky vocal style, this proved a winning
combination, but it wasn’t until after World War II that Trenet really capitalized
on his growing popularity, showcasing a clutch of new tunes that included “La
mer.”
Released in 1946, it’s a poetic ode to the ocean, capturing its hypnotic
qualities in almost surreal terms. Although the song became an international hit,
little was known about its origins until an elderly Trenet revealed in 2001 that
he’d written the lyrics of “La mer” as a poem when he was sixteen. He also
divulged that the music was composed and scribbled onto railway toilet paper
during a short train journey in 1943.
In the late 1950s, American songwriter Jack Lawrence transformed “La
mer.” He rewrote the lyrics and turned it into a romantic song of yearning,
retitled “Beyond the Sea.” This English-language version became a megahit for
American heartthrob Bobby Darin. BC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
White Christmas
Bing Crosby (1947)
Irving Berlin was never much of a musician. He lacked Jerome Kern’s gift for
harmony, George Gershwin’s adventurousness, and Cole Porter’s wit. He was a
famously terrible pianist and never learned to write musical notation. Yet from
this apparently unsophisticated hand came a catalog whose success remains
unmatched by any songwriter before or since: more than eight hundred
published songs, among them such unavoidables as “God Bless America,”
“There’s No Business Like Show Business,” and this, the Christmas song to end
all Christmas songs.
First sketched out by Berlin in early 1940, “White Christmas” appeared in
1942, sung by Bing Crosby in the movie Holiday Inn. Although Crosby’s
recording was released at the height of summer, its timing couldn’t have been
better: with U.S. involvement in World War II escalating, the song’s
sentimentality struck a chord with listeners parted from loved ones. (It helped
that Crosby’s version omitted Berlin’s original verse, which sets the singer’s
location in Beverly Hills.) The song was No. 1 by October and omnipresent by
1943.
Five years after the original hit, Crosby was asked to re-record “White
Christmas” because of the degradation of the original master plate; it’s this
version that’s most familiar today. It’s since been covered by everyone from
Louis Armstrong to Twisted Sister. WF-J
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Roy Brown remains among the greatest “lost heroes” of rock and soul. With
“Good Rockin’ Tonight,” he gave postwar America an anthem for the turbulent
new music taking shape. The Louisiana-born Brown had grown up singing
gospel. Initially a Bing Crosby imitator, he quickly reshaped his sound after
witnessing Houston audiences throw money at blues singers.
A hugely popular live entertainer, Brown’s athletic stage presence and
musical versatility established him as the most popular black singer in New
Orleans. He wrote “Good Rockin’ Tonight” in 1946 and performed the song for
boogiewoogie pianist Cecil Gant. So taken was Gant with the song, he rang Jules
Braun of New Jersey’s DeLuxe Records and got Brown to sing “Good Rockin’
Tonight” to him over the phone. Braun promptly told Gant to give Brown a
hundred dollars, get him a room at the Dew Drop, and keep an eye on him.
Arriving in New Orleans two days later, Braun set up a recording session, and
released “Good Rockin’ Tonight” in May 1947.
Backed by a pumping band, Brown sang “Good Rockin’ Tonight” as a call to
arms, and the record captures the raw power and excitement of jump blues. An
immediate hit in New Orleans, the song reached the national charts in 1948,
though it went to No. 1 on the R&B listings when covered by leading blues
shouter Wynonie Harris. GC
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Nature Boy
The Nat King Cole Trio (1948)
The story goes that a few days after composer Eden Ahbez first presented Nat
King Cole’s manager with “Nature Boy” in 1947, Cole performed it live at the
Bocage nightclub in Los Angeles. At the end of the set, before Cole had even
reached the dressing room, Irving Berlin offered to buy it. This tale of a “strange
enchanted boy . . . who wandered very far” was to be the making of Cole.
Pianist Nat King Cole had come to prominence in the late 1930s as the leader
of a jazz trio. As a singer, with a beautifully smooth style and clear diction, Cole
had a series of hits in the 1940s that appealed to a white audience. This was a
difficult trick to pull off, as American music was then divided by race, and
crossing over from black-jazz to white-pop acceptability was rare. Cole did it in
style with “Nature Boy,” which became a U.S. No. 1.
The melody echoes the Yiddish tune “Schwieg mein Hertz,” as well as part
of a Dvořák piano quintet. The original version, however, which Cole recorded
on August 22, 1947, was transformed by the lush orchestrations of Frank DeVol,
the in-house arranger of Capitol Records, whose use of strings and flute to
suggest the strange enchantments of the nature boy made the song a massive hit,
despite the simultaneous appearance of several cover versions. Cole himself only
sings on the song, the piano solo taken by someone else. Cole the popular
vocalist had arrived. SA See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Writer | Louis Jordan, Ellis Walsh Producer | Uncredited Label | Decca Album
| N/A
Few figures in black-music history have enjoyed greater success and wielded
more influence than Louis Jordan. The singer and saxophonist got his start in
New York during the 1930s with Chick Webb’s big band, the same group with
which Ella Fitzgerald found fame. But Jordan truly hit his stride with his own
Tympany Five, helping to define the R&B sound while racking up an unmatched
chart run during the Forties and early Fifties with a string of joyous, swinging
singles.
Telling the tale of a police raid on a New Orleans house party, “Saturday
Night Fish Fry” is in many ways a Jordan archetype: there’s a little
boogiewoogie piano, a bookending horn riff, an in-the-pocket rhythm section,
and a comic narrative. By this point, the group (now a nine-piece) were swinging
more fiercely than ever, with James “Ham” Jackson’s cranked-up electric-guitar
licks offering a direct link to rock ’n’ roll.
Spending twelve weeks atop the U.S. R&B charts, “Saturday Night Fish Fry”
was one of Jordan’s last hits. By 1951, his ten-year chart residency had begun a
decline that was only expedited by rock ’n’ roll, the music he’d helped invent. It
took four decades for audiences to rediscover his catalog, when Five Guys
Named Moe, Clarke Peters’s feel-good musical built around Jordan’s songs,
transferred from the London fringe to lengthy runs in the West End and on
Broadway. WF-J
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
Pre-1950s
Country music has long toed the line separating craft and confession, artistry and
authenticity. Yet it was Hank Williams who really tied together these opposite
extremes. Williams was a skilled tunesmith and a gifted vocalist. More than any
country performer before him, he carved his own life into his songs, whether
wryly lamenting his lack of beer (“My Bucket’s Got a Hole in It,” making light
of his debilitating alcoholism) or eerily anticipating his own demise (“I’ll Never
Get Out of This World Alive,” released weeks before his death). Apparently
written about his turbulent marriage, “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” is an
archetypal blend of autobiography and imagination.
“I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” is unusual among Williams’s repertoire in
that it was conceived not as a song but a poem. The singer had been booked to
tape a series of spoken-word recitations in early 1950, and “I’m So Lonesome I
Could Cry” had apparently been written with these sessions in mind. Williams
had a change of heart, though, and instead set the words to a plangent, simple
tune in three-quarter time.
Buried on the B-side of “My Bucket’s Got a Hole in It,” the song wasn’t a
hit in its day. However, it’s since become a touchstone for Williams’s illstarred
life, which ended, strung out on morphine and alcohol, in the back seat of a car
on New Year’s Day, 1953. He was twenty-nine years old. WF-J
See all songs from the Pre-1950s
1950s
• DJ Alan Freed begins to play black R&B for white listeners in 1951
• Black harmony groups initiate the American fad of doo wop in 1954
• Bill Haley & His Comets release “Rock Around the Clock” in 1955
• Elvis Presley electrifies America on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1956
• Berry Gordy Jr. founds the Motown label, dubbed “Hitsville USA,” in
1959
Contents
Autumn Leaves
Summertime
Goodnight, Irene
Mambo No. 5
Rocket 88
Cry
How High the Moon
London Is the Place for Me
They Can’t Take That Away From Me
Dust My Broom
Foi Deus
Le gorille
Singin’ in the Rain
Just Walkin’ in the Rain
Please Love Me
Crying in the Chapel
Riot in Cell Block No. 9
Love for Sale
The Wind
My Funny Valentine
Shake, Rattle and Roll
(We’re Gonna) Rock Around the Clock
I Get Along Without You Very Well
In the Wee Small Hours of the Morning
Tutti Frutti
Only You (and You Alone)
Cry Me a River
Sixteen Tons
I’m a Man
Blue Monday
Burundanga
Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)
I’ve Got You Under My Skin
Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye
Be-Bop-A-Lula
Heartbreak Hotel
Blueberry Hill
Hound Dog
Honey Hush
I Walk the Line
Knoxville Girl
Ella
Take My Hand, Precious Lord
Folsom Prison Blues
I Put a Spell on You
Just a Gigolo / I Ain’t Got Nobody
Rock Island Line
Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going On
That’ll Be the Day
Little Darlin’
Great Balls of Fire
When I Fall in Love
You Send Me
It’s Only Make Believe
Johnny B. Goode
Move It!
La Bamba
Yakety Yak
At the Hop
Stagger Lee
Summertime Blues
Dans mon île
Lonesome Town
Fever
One for My Baby (and One More for the Road)
Le poinçonneur des Lilas
Nel blu dipinto di blu
All I Have to Do Is Dream
To Know Him Is to Love Him
Brand New Cadillac
What’d I Say (Parts 1 & 2)
I Only Have Eyes for You
Ne me quitte pas
Shout (Parts 1 & 2)
Mack the Knife
It Ain’t Necessarily So
1950s
Autumn Leaves
Jo Stafford (1950)
Summertime
Sarah Vaughan (1950)
Porgy and Bess has long attracted controversy for its representation of African-
American life. Written in 1935 by a white Jewish musician, George Gershwin,
and based on the 1924 novel Porgy by a white southerner, DuBose Heyward,
who then wrote the libretto, the folk opera has been accused of sustaining white
stereotypes of southern black life. No such criticism attaches to its individual
songs, however, least of all to “Summertime,” which became a popular jazz
standard.
Gershwin based the song on black spirituals. It has a mainly pentatonic
melody—that is, one that uses notes from a five-note scale rather than the more
conventional heptatonic (seven-note) scale—a form common to many spirituals
and gospel songs. The main theme uses only six notes and in its simplicity
sounds like a traditional folk song, not a modern composition.
In Sarah Vaughan’s hands, the song is transformed into something quite
dramatic. After two sets of repeating and descending string and bass-drum riffs
that echo throughout the song, Vaughan enters with a sense of purpose. Horn
statements and lush string arrangements support her full, rich contralto voice. In
her “Summertime,” the “living is easy,” but anxious and possibly threatening,
too. Of all the many versions that exist of this standard, few are as arresting, or
as original, as that of Sarah Vaughan. SA See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Goodnight, Irene
The Weavers (1950)
Legend has it that “Goodnight, Irene” was spectacular enough to get the man
that first popularized the tune out of prison in 1934. Huddie “Lead Belly”
Ledbetter received a pardon from the crime of attempted murder due in large
part to how much Louisiana’s governor enjoyed the bluesman’s recording of
“Irene.”
The exact origin of “Irene” is unknown. It’s often credited to Lead Belly, but
he learned the tune from his uncle, and its origins may stretch back to the 1880s
and Gussie Lord Davis’s “Irene, Good Night.” Whoever was the first to spin this
lovesick tale, listeners can thank musicologists John and Alan Lomax for
recording Lead Belly’s version—for the composition went on to become one of
the greatest American folk standards of the twentieth century. The version that
truly secured that lofty ranking, however, wasn’t Lead Belly’s, but the one by
The Weavers.
Pete Seeger’s folk quartet, which learned the tune straight from Lead Belly,
omitted some of the composition’s more controversial verses, including the
suicidal “And if Irene turns her back on me, I’m gonna take morphine and die.”
Yet, these “prettied up” lyrics meant that millions would get to enjoy “Irene.”
The song went to No. 1 in the United States, stayed on the charts for nearly half
a year and prompted countless others, spanning from Frank Sinatra to Raffi, to
record their own versions. JiH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Mambo No. 5
Pérez Prado (1950)
Writer | Pérez Prado Producer | Uncredited Label | RCA Victor Album | N/A
Rocket 88
Jackie Brenston & His Delta Cats (1951)
Writer | Jackie Brenston Producer | Sam Phillips, Ike Turner Label | Chess
Album | N/A
Often cited as the first rock ’n’ roll record, “Rocket 88” features the pounding
piano of one Izear Luster Turner Jr. several years before he met future wife
Anna Mae Bullock and they found fame as Ike and Tina Turner. In March 1951,
Turner and his band The Kings of Rhythm traveled north by road from
Clarksdale, Mississippi, to cut a session at Sam Phillips’s Memphis Recording
Service (later Sun Studio) at 706 Union Avenue in Memphis, Tennessee. The
band’s vocalist/saxophonist and Turner’s cousin, Jackie Brenston, sang lead on
“Rocket 88,” an ode to the pleasures of the Oldsmobile 88, first produced in
1949 and famed for its “Rocket V8” engine. Phillips leased the master to
Chicago’s Chess record label, who released it with the artist renamed as Jackie
Brenston & His Delta Cats—to the chagrin of Turner, who watched the record
soar to the top spot on the Billboard R&B chart. Brenston was also credited with
sole authorship, which Turner disputed.
The recording features a distorted, fuzz guitar sound that Phillips said was
the result of guitarist Willie Kizart’s amp falling from the roof of the band’s car
on the way to the studio, thereby puncturing the speaker cone; Phillips tried to
fix it by stuffing the rip with paper. Little Richard’s “Good Golly, Miss Molly”
(1958) reused Ike Turner’s “Rocket 88” piano riff—which itself had been lifted
from “Cadillac Boogie” (1947) by Jimmy Liggins. JoH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Cry
Johnnie Ray & The Four Lads (1951)
In the early Fifties, Johnnie Ray was a new kind of singing sensation. His style
owed everything to crooners such as Bing Crosby, but it was the drama and
personality he added to his recordings that singled him out as a truly original
performer.
“Cry” was the perfect embodiment of Ray’s characteristic vocal delivery.
The recording’s gulping, tuneless, sob story sounds almost as though the singer
is about to break down in tears—a feat he achieved in many of his concert
appearances. A tormented childhood and an accident at age ten that left him
requiring a hearing aid all added to Ray’s frail appeal. “So let your hair down
and go right on and cry” says the lyric, and fans took his advice and did just that.
Ray’s concerts were emotional experiences that would arguably be equaled in
their intensity only by Sixties Beatlemania and the teenybopper era in the
Seventies. Ray himself admitted that he sang “flat as a table”—which mattered
not at all, as he was drowned out by hysterical screaming girls who frequently
ripped the clothes from his back.
Churchill Kohlman’s song, first made popular by Ruth Casey, had long since
lost its original substance when Johnnie Ray made it his own and topped the
Billboard Hot 100. The song lent itself to country covers more in keeping with
its original creation and was recorded by artists such as Tammy Wynette and
Crystal Gayle. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Dissatisfied in the 1930s with his semi-acoustic guitar—too weedy by itself, too
prone to feedback when amplified—Les Paul decided the solution was a fully
amplified, solid-bodied instrument. So he built one himself from a length of
lumber, adding two cut-away sides of an acoustic guitar for decorative effect, as
audiences found its appearance freakish. Nicknamed “the Log,” it was the first-
ever electric guitar, the direct precursor to the later Gibson model named in
Paul’s honor.
His guitar-building success helped inspire the indomitable guitarist to resolve
another irritation: the need to record live. Fidgeting with acetate discs in his
garage in 1947, Paul cut an otherworldly version of the Rodgers and Hart song
“Lover (When You’re Near Me),” on which he overdubbed eight guitar parts.
But the fun really started shortly afterward, when sometime recording partner
Bing Crosby helped fund Paul’s experiments in tape-recording technology,
which made it far easier for Paul to layer tracks on top of each other.
One of the earliest songs cut by Paul on his souped-up Ampex tape recorder,
“How High the Moon” still sounds dazzling nearly sixty years later, Paul’s
dozen fizzing tracks finding an opposites-attract marriage with Ford’s graceful
layered vocals. A Billboard No. 1 for nine straight weeks, it’s perhaps the
apogee of Paul’s experiments in what he called “sound-on-sound recording.”
WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Lord Kitchener was born Aldwyn Roberts in Trinidad, the son of a blacksmith,
in 1923. He grew up hearing the Spanish songs of the dance halls and the early
calypso performed around the island. Along with Mighty Sparrow, Kitchener
would popularize calypso across the globe.
By the late Forties, Kitch had already become a leading light of Trinidad’s
burgeoning calypso scene, and had traveled to the United States and United
Kingdom to perform. He emigrated to the the latter country aboard the MV
Empire Windrush in 1948 (newsreel of the time captures him, disembarking, and
actually singing this song) and swiftly became a talismanic figure for Caribbean
immigrants in London. Arriving in a strange land, they initially relied on
themselves for community and entertainment alike, with calypso providing a
commentary on everything from politics to sexual innuendo.
“London is the Place For Me” caught the optimistic feel of the time and
offered some colorful island relief against the gray tones of the British capital.
The opening and closing piano phrase from the song mimics the “Westminster
Quarters” from the chimes of Big Ben, and establishes an iconic image of the
city. The song proved popular not only with immigrants in the U.K., but also in
the West African countries of the Commonwealth, and was a hit back in the
Caribbean, too. CR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | George Gershwin, Ira Gershwin Producer | Norman Granz Label | Clef
Album | The Astaire Story (1952)
Music by George Gershwin, lyrics by brother Ira, “They Can’t Take That Away
From Me” first surfaced in the Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers movie Shall We
Dance (1937). Then accompanied by Johnny Green & His Orchestra, Astaire’s
first attempt was nominated for Best Original Song at the Oscars, only to lose
out to Harry Owen’s “Sweet Leilani” from Waikiki Wedding.
Astaire crooned the number to Rogers yet again in The Barkleys of
Broadway (1949), but arguably nailed the song’s easy charm later on, when he
finally recorded his debut long player in 1952. The Astaire Story, a four-volume
career retrospective that made its way into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999,
featured pianist Oscar Peterson, famous for his Trio but here fronting a sextet.
The producer was impresario Norman Granz, who had given Peterson his big
break at Carnegie Hall a few years earlier, and together they improvised a jazzy,
delicate, amiable version given spring by Astaire’s sensitive and guileless
performance. Not bad for the chap who “Can’t act. Can’t sing,” according to that
sniffy, possibly apocryphal, screen test report.
“They Can’t Take That Away From Me” has, of course, enjoyed a rich
afterlife. Covered by Sarah Vaughan in 1957, Ella Fitzgerald in 1959, and Frank
Sinatra in 1962, to name just a handful, it stands tall as a fixture of the putative
Great American Songbook, a signifier of a more romantic age. MH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Dust My Broom
Elmore James (1952)
“Dust My Broom” has one of the most complex histories of any blues song, not
least because it involves the enigmatic Robert Johnson. In November 1936,
Johnson recorded his own composition called “(I Believe I’ll) Dust My Broom.”
Both the title and the tune, however, were already around by that date in other
songs. Elmore James has sometimes been credited as its composer, although he
was only eighteen at the time Johnson recorded it and the two probably did not
meet until 1937. What probably happened is that Johnson then taught James the
song.
What is known is that in August 1951 the producer Lillian McMurry got
Elmore James into a recording studio. She was unaware of Johnson’s earlier
composition and in good faith filed for copyright under James’s name. His
version of the song had the title “Dust My Broom” and slightly altered words,
but most importantly was played not with the acoustic guitar used by Johnson
but with an electric slide or bottleneck guitar.
Supported by harmonica, bass, and drums, James turns the song into a
hardwired, amplified banshee wail. What the song actually means is debatable,
“dust my broom” referring either to cleaning or being perhaps a sexual term. The
song was a surprise hit when it was released in 1952, and its opening electrifying
riff is one of the best-known sounds in modern blues. SA See all songs from the
1950s
1950s
Foi Deus
Amália Rodrigues (1952)
Le gorille
Georges Brassens (1952)
“Though it’s old,” sings a teenage Judy Garland, introducing it in the 1940
movie Little Nellie Kelly, “it’s a lovely song.” And old it was, at least in relation
to what was then a young Hollywood. “Singin’ in the Rain” had featured in
several film musicals since making its debut in The Hollywood Revue of 1929,
but never quite caught on. It would probably still be languishing in obscurity
were it not for the persistence of one of its co-writers.
Arthur Freed spent the first part of his Hollywood career as a jobbing lyricist,
churning out songs on the MGM assembly line. Promotion in the late 1930s led
him into movie production, but he never quite let go of his music. And so it was
that in the early 1950s, flush with success from the likes of Easter Parade and
On the Town, he decided to build a film around songs he’d written in the
Twenties and Thirties with composer Nacio Herb Brown. The result was Singin’
in the Rain.
It’s near-impossible to hear the title number without also seeing it. Gene
Kelly was never a great singer, but he could always sell a song, especially when
he relied on his feet to do the selling. Heard without the visuals, it’s a gentle
little swinger but not much more; paired with the dance routine, though, it’s
irresistible. Since referenced by everyone from Stanley Kubrick to British
comedians Morecambe and Wise (in a 1976 sketch), it’s still musical shorthand
for joy. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Johnny Bragg, Robert Riley Producer | Sam Phillips Label | Sun
Album | N/A
Please Love Me
B. B. King (1953)
Writer | Jules Taub (Joe Bihari), B. B. King Producer | Jules Bihari Label |
RPM
Album | N/A
Eight years before a baseball team came to town and swiped its name,
Baltimore’s Orioles formed in 1946 and started drawing up the doowop
rulebook. The vocal troupe, named after Maryland’s state bird, soon became an
R&B sensation, scoring several big singles by decade’s end. The well began to
dry up in the early Fifties, but not before these birds recorded the top doowop
ditty “Crying in the Chapel.”
The supple gospel composition, versatile enough to thrive in country, R&B,
and pop readings, was the perfect vehicle for the high-flying vocals of The
Orioles. The four singers meshed on this song as well as any combo in doowop
history, with George Nelson (baritone) and Johnny Reed (bass) digging a tomb
for all earthly burdens, and tenors Alexander Sharp and Sonny Til soaring off
with the promise of a heavenly existence. It was an ode to “the Lord”—and yet,
there was a bit of the devil in there as well.
“Crying in the Chapel” was a hit in many hands—including those of Elvis
and Aretha—yet none would handle it better than Baltimore’s finest. The
Orioles’ version went to No. 1 on the U.S. R&B charts, where it remained for
five weeks, becoming the band’s biggest—and last—hit. Two decades later, this
signature rendition was introduced to new generations of listeners on the
American Graffiti soundtrack. JiH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Label |
Spark
Album | N/A
Leiber and Stoller’s comic “playlets” for The Coasters remain some of the most
enduring mementos of the rock ’n’ roll era. No less impressive is this influential
single for their forerunners, The Robins.
Wailing sirens and the rat-tat-tat of Tommy guns open up a tale of a prison
riot, based on a swaggering Muddy Waters–style riff. The lyrics are delivered in
a wonderful couldn’t-give-a-damn drawl by Richard Berry, the composer of
“Louie Louie.” The latter was truly insurrectionary—the FBI actually had those
lyrics scrutinized—but Leiber always denied any deeper meaning to “Riot in
Cell Block No. 9,” claiming its origins (especially the sound-effects-heavy intro)
came from radio show Gang Busters. That may be, but there’s an edge to the
track that suggests something more.
For a start, there’s nothing in the lyrics that openly acknowledges the song as
a joke. And the payoff at the end—“In the forty-seventh hour, the tear gas got
our men / We’re all back in our cells, but every now and then . . .”—suggestively
hints that the action isn’t over quite yet.
Elvis’s “Jailhouse Rock,” also penned by Leiber and Stoller, is a more
lighthearted take on the same theme, but Sly Stone’s classic 1971 album, There’s
a Riot Goin’ On, is perhaps a truer descendant, picking up on the dark stuff in
The Robins’ original and using it to tell the tale of a country still twitchy about
race, still in Vietnam, and still riven by riot. RD
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Cole Porter wrote “Love for Sale” for the musical The New Yorkers, which
debuted on Broadway in December 1930. A prostitute’s song, it offers a direct
and arrestingly unromantic view of love (“Love that’s fresh and still unspoiled /
Love that’s only slightly soiled”)—though perhaps a broken heart lies beneath
all that cold cynicism.
Initially performed by white actress Kathryn Crawford, Porter quickly
transferred the song to black singer Elisabeth Welch. This change did little to
diminish the song’s controversy, because the Hays Code had been introduced
that year to censor immoral content and “Love for Sale” was briefly banned
from the radio.
Given the song’s status, it is interesting that Billie Holiday recorded it only
once. Although taped in April 1952 as part of a session with her six-piece
orchestra, she performed it with just pianist Oscar Peterson as her accompanist.
Once recorded, though, it would not appear until the eight-track Billie Holiday
10-inch album in 1954.
For Holiday, the subject of this song was undoubtedly raw. As a young
woman in New York, she had once worked in a brothel and was imprisoned
briefly for soliciting sometime around 1930, the same year the song made its
Broadway debut. Certainly, she sings it with a regretful knowingness, but then
that was her trademark. Either way, her version is a heartfelt classic. SA See all
songs from the 1950s
1950s
The Wind
Nolan Strong & The Diablos (1954)
Writer | Nolan Strong, Bob Edwards Producer | Jack Brown, Devora Brown
Label | Fortune Album | N/A
Doo-wop combo Nolan Strong & The Diablos got together at high school,
naming themselves after a book Strong was studying for class, El niño diablo. In
1954, the group auditioned for Fortune founders Jack and Devora Brown, who
promptly signed them. Fortune was a family-run label that recorded in a back
room of a shop in Detroit.
The group’s second single, “The Wind,” is as captivating today as it was
when it was first cut. Over creeping double-bass plucks, the group swell into
harmony, crooning, “Wind, blow, wind.” Then Strong begins to sing and it’s a
true goosebump moment, his pure, sweet falsetto swooning across the track.
“The Wind” is a lullaby to lost love and comes complete with a spoken-word
section—delivered with that hand-on-heart seriousness exclusive to teenagers.
“The Wind” became a big seller in the Midwest, but never nationally. Local
boy Smokey Robinson was a big fan; another was Berry Gordy, who tried to
sign the group to Motown for $5,000. Fortune countered with $15,000. Moving
into the Sixties, Strong was still bound to a contract with Fortune that he’d
signed in his teens. Frustratingly, Fortune refused to license the group’s
recordings out to bigger labels with better distribution. One can only imagine
how painful it must have been for Strong to witness Motown’s massive success
while his own talent remained under lock and key. SH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
My Funny Valentine
Chet Baker (1954)
Writer | Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart Producer | Richard Bock Label | Pacific
Jazz
Album | Chet Baker Sings (1956)
When Chet Baker died in 1988 after falling from a hotel window in Amsterdam,
his good looks and velvet voice had been wrecked by forty years of drug abuse.
Despite that ending, Baker is perhaps best remembered as the handsome, fragile
soul delicately crooning “My Funny Valentine.”
Baker first encountered the ballad—originally written for the Broadway
musical Babes in Arms—while playing trumpet with the Gerry Mulligan Quartet
in 1952. “The song fascinated Baker,” writes his biographer James Gavin in
Deep in a Dream. “It captured all he aspired to as a musician, with its
sophisticated probing of a beautiful theme and its gracefully linked phrases.”
After recording an instrumental version with Mulligan, Baker returned to the
song in 1954, this time singing with a sparse drum, piano, and bass backing. His
elegantly restrained, hushed delivery summed up the “cool” style of West Coast
jazz. While it didn’t earn him the respect of critics—one described his singing as
a “time-consuming habit” that distracted from his trumpet playing—it turned
him into a teen icon.
More significantly, the perfect balance of toughness and vulnerability,
introspection, and romance in Baker’s vocals set the template for almost every
flawed pop and rock hero to come. Today, Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse
are walking a path he paved fifty years ago. TB
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Big Joe Turner’s remarkable career stretched from the 1930s to the 1980s. He
initially came to New York from Kansas City as a blues shouter during the
boogie-woogie craze. A disastrous appearance at Harlem’s Apollo Theater
fronting the Count Basie band saw Turner heckled viciously. Atlantic Records
boss Ahmet Ertegun convinced Joe to sign with his label, though, and start
cutting R&B.
Between 1951 and 1956, Turner had fourteen Top Ten R&B hits. The most
memorable was “Shake, Rattle and Roll,” which topped the R&B charts and
went to No. 2 on the pop listings. Written by Kansas City jazz veteran Jesse
Stone (under the pseudonym Charles E. Calhoun), “Shake, Rattle and Roll”
possesses a hard-driving rhythm that allows Turner’s vocal to celebrate his lover
with joyous lust. The song was covered by Bill Haley and Elvis Presley (albeit in
a bowdlerized manner that removed the innuendo—“Way you wear those
dresses, the sun comes shinin’ through / I can’t believe my eyes, all that mess
belongs to you”).
Turner was forty-three when “Shake, Rattle and Roll” gave him the biggest
hit of his career and he became an unexpected beneficiary of the rock ’n’ roll
phenomenon, with Cleveland DJ Alan Freed championing him alongside much
younger singers. The hits faded after 1958, but Turner kept recording and
performing right up until his death, aged seventy-four. GC
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Max Freedman, Jimmy deKnight (aka James E. Myers) Producer | Milt
Gabler Label | Decca Album | N/A
Trumpeter Chet Baker was the James Dean of modern jazz. His striking looks
made him the epitome of cool. As a trumpeter, if truth be told, his range was
limited, but he was a supreme balladeer, his delicate, gossamer-light lines
displaying a brittle beauty. “Walking on eggshells” is the apt description often
applied to his fine solos.
Baker had first made his mark in 1952 on America’s West Coast, where he
partnered baritone saxophonist Gerry Mulligan in a pianoless quartet, an unusual
lineup that matched his light and airy notes with the gruff harrumphing of a
baritone sax underscored by bass and drums to surprisingly balletic effect. The
idea that Baker might then sing on some tracks came from his record label boss,
Dick Bock. “I encouraged him to sing and it turned out he had an exceptional
talent for it,” Bock recalled later.
Baker’s emotionally restrained singing is musical in the proper sense. His bel
canto–tenor vocals are achieved with perfect breath control and relaxation, his
notes completely in tune, his phrases perfectly measured throughout. On Hoagy
Carmichael’s well-loved song—as on the rest of its parent album—he is
accompanied by just piano, bass, and drums, although on this occasion he plays
no trumpet. It is a poignant performance, its seemingly effortless simplicity
hiding considerable technique. SA See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | David Mann and Bob Hilliard Producer | Voyle Gilmore Label |
Capitol
Album | In the Wee Small Hours (1955)
Tutti Frutti
Little Richard (1955)
With its wild opening, “Tutti Frutti” had been a popular part of Little Richard’s
stage act for some time. However, the singer had never expected the song to get
released on record because of the highly sexual nature of the lyrics. Yet on
September 14, 1955, at J&M studios in New Orleans, one of pop’s defining
recordings was conceived as Little Richard filled in time at the end of the session
by bashing out “Tutti Frutti.” Producer “Bumps” Blackwell was impressed by
the song’s energy and excitement and hired songwriter Dorothy LaBostrie to
work on some less inflammatory lyrics.
With LaBostrie’s “clean-up” job done, Little Richard’s recording still found
difficulty in getting sufficient radio airplay to win a chart battle against Pat
Boone’s clean-cut version. However, it was Richard’s flamboyant “Tutti Frutti”
that had the most lasting effect, transfixing teenagers as far away as Liverpool—
where The Beatles became big fans—and beyond.
Mixing gospel, jump blues, and boogiewoogie piano, Richard still had one
killer element that made him a key figure in pop history: his personality. His
pompadour hairstyle, makeup, and frantic movement shocked and amazed
conservative mid-Fifties America. “Tutti Frutti” was his breakthrough, the
beginning of a career that exploded across the world a year later with his
appearance in the movie The Girl Can’t Help It. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
A few songs are de facto anthems for musical genres—think Bob Marley & The
Wailers’ “One Love” for reggae, or Fela Kuti’s “O.D.O.O.” for Afropop. Doo-
wop’s pièce de résistance is arguably The Platters’ “Only You (and You
Alone).”
The song was the first hit for the Los Angeles quintet, charting stateside at
No. 5. (Its follow-up, “The Great Pretender,” went to No. 1.) “Only You” was
also one of the earliest major “crossover” hits by a black act, at a time when
“race” records rarely reached white audiences or the pop charts. So the group’s
induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 1990—the first doo-wop group
to be so honored—is wholly appropriate.
An initial session, for Federal Records, stalled; however, a second stab, for
Mercury, proved rather more successful, and the song took off, despite
competition from another version by The Hilltoppers. A performance of “Only
You” in the movie Rock Around the Clock (1956) further cemented its legendary
status.
Even heard with contemporary ears, “Only You” retains its appeal. Lead
vocalist Tony Williams’s singing is at once confident and vulnerable, breaking
into a controlled quivering as he hits his higher register. The very nature of the
song is also illustrative of a transitional period in music: Williams’s vocal
delivery is part swing-era crooner, part declarative rocker. YK
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Cry Me a River
Julie London (1955)
When Arthur Hamilton wrote “Cry Me a River,” it was his intention that Ella
Fitzgerald would perform it in the 1955 movie Pete Kelly’s Blues, but the song
was dropped.
In the end, the honor fell to former jungle-movie actress Julie London—
known as much for her sultry sleeve photographs as for her languorous voice—
and its big-screen debut was in the Jayne Mansfield vehicle The Girl Can’t Help
It (1956). The jazzy number was a remnant of the past in a picture that otherwise
celebrated the emergent beat of rock ’n’ roll, but that didn’t prevent its selling
millions and becoming one of the most covered standards of all time.
Hamilton’s jazzy blues composition reignited the smoldering torch song, but
with a couple of new twists. Unusually for the genre, the singer is defiant,
turning the tables when a man who rejected her—evidently a cad, given that his
pretext was that love is “too plebeian”—comes crawling back. Its sparse
arrangement, too, was unprecedented: where the torch singers of the past would
have been backed up by piano and orchestra, here the vocalist is supported only
by Ray Leatherwood’s upright bass and arranger Barney Kessel’s stark electric
guitar. The pioneering sound inspired, among others, Brazilian guitarist João
Gilberto to develop his minimalist take on samba, the bossa nova. SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Sixteen Tons
Tennessee Ernie Ford (1955)
Writer | Merle Travis Producer | Lee Gillette Label | Capitol Album | N/A
“Burl Ives has sung all the folk songs,” sighed western-swing star Merle Travis
in 1946, when Capitol asked him to record an album to cash in on the Woody
Guthrie–inspired craze for American roots music. So Travis turned his thoughts
to the work songs and chain-gang rounds of the Depression, and set some of the
sayings of his father, a Kentucky miner, to music. The result was a gritty
exploration of the U.S. miner’s lot, where back-breaking toil was rewarded not
with cash but “scrip”—promissory tokens that could be spent only at a company-
owned store. In McCarthyite America, such sympathy for the working man was
deemed downright subversive, and some radio stations even went so far as to
ban Travis.
Nine years later, Tennessee Ernie Ford, a Pasadena-based DJ, revisited the
tune. While Travis’s recording had been an acoustic strum, Ford’s reading
luxuriated in a smooth jazz arrangement by bandleader Jack Fascinato, centered
on clarinet, slap bass, and a muted trumpet obbligato. The infectious finger-
clicking was supplied by Ford purely as a means to count in the band, but
producer Lee Gillette recognized its rhythmic appeal and kept it in the mix.
Ford’s warm baritone made the song—initially intended simply as a B-side
—a huge international hit; it spent eight weeks atop the Billboard chart and sold
a million copies inside a month. SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
I’m a Man
Bo Diddley (1955)
Writer | Ellas McDaniel Producer | Leonard Chess, Phil Chess Label | Checker
Album | Bo Diddley (1958)
Despite boasting the nickname “The Originator” and influencing everyone from
Buddy Holly and The Rolling Stones to U2 and The Jesus & Mary Chain, Bo
Diddley made for a pretty unlikely rock pioneer. Born Ellas Otha Bates in
Mississippi in 1928, he was a chunky, myopic man who happily sported tartan-
checked jackets and bow ties along with a rectangular guitar covered with rabbit
fur. Yet his memory lives on through the ubiquity of his “Bo Diddley Beat.”
Starting out playing music on Chicago street corners, in late 1954 Diddley
recorded demo versions of two songs: “Uncle John” (the racy lyrics of which
were later bowdlerized when it was retitled “Bo Diddley”) and another, inspired
by a Muddy Waters number from a few years before, called “I’m a Man.” Built
on the same guitar pattern as Waters’s song, “I’m a Man” saw Diddley boasting
of his sexual prowess over a lascivious blues ramble. Re-recorded at the
legendary Chess studios, “I’m a Man” appeared on the B-side to Bo’s debut
single, a No. 1 hit on the R&B charts when it was released in March 1955. This
was the version discovered by British beat bands when Bo toured Europe in
1963—the cover that appeared on The Yardbirds’ American compilation album
Having a Rave Up becoming the template for several thousand white, suburban
garage-rock bands when it was released in 1965. PL
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Blue Monday
Fats Domino (1956)
Rarely given enough credit for his pioneering role in the story of popular music,
Antoine “Fats” Domino influenced legends from Elvis Presley and John Lennon
to Otis Redding and Bob Marley. Today, the New Orleans pianist is perhaps
most widely known through The Beatles’ homage “Lady Madonna.” In the
Fifties, however, “Blue Monday” was his fifth No.1 on Billboard’s R&B listing.
More significantly, it was his sixth smash on the pop chart: Fats’s laconic,
country-and-western-flavored style made him a multimillion-selling favorite
with both black and white audiences.
The titular inspiration for New Order’s 1983 classic, “Blue Monday” is—
wrote Dave Marsh in The Heart of Rock & Soul—“the foundation of a rock and
roll tradition of songs about hatred of the working week and lust for lost
weekends.” The teenage Fats had, in fact, toiled in a factory by day—playing in
clubs by night—hence his charmingly grumpy lyric, “How I hate blue Monday /
Got to work like a slave all day.” These complaints are complemented by
hammering drums and furry sax. An eight-bar break by his long-standing
saxophonist Herb Hardesty was acclaimed by critic Hank Davis as “a gem of
almost frightening economy.”
Reportedly Fats’s favorite of his own recordings, this super song remains rib-
ticklingly relevant more than five decades later. BM
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Burundanga
Celia Cruz (1956)
She was born Úrsula Hilaria Celia de la Caridad Cruz Alfonso in Havana, Cuba,
but is better known as Celia Cruz or the Queen of Salsa. However, Cruz was
having hits with gentler Afro-Cuban numbers such as “Burundanga” long before
the term “salsa” was cooked up.
Even to Spanish-speakers, the lyrics of this pan-American smash are rather
impenetrable. They refer to Abakuá, a male-only secret society that traces its
roots to southeastern Nigeria and western Cameroon, before its members were
stolen away to Cuba by slave traders. It’s not so much the content but the way
that Cruz rolls the words off her tongue that really matters, though.
“Burundanga” was written by a maestro with whom Cruz had studied music,
and was Fidel Castro’s favorite musical accompaniment to clean his gun to while
plotting the Cuban revolution in his mountain hideaway in 1959. Ironically, Cruz
and her backing band, Sonora Matancera, left Cuba as exiles in July 1960.
Little did Cruz know she would spend more than half her life in New York
City when she traveled there in 1957; she made the trip to accept a gold disc for
the song. The success of “Burundanga” also led to her first tour of Colombia,
where—in a sign of the times—the word now refers to scopolamine, a hypnotic
substance used by robbers and rapists to drug their victims. JLu See all songs
from the 1950s
1950s
Two days after she recorded the sublime “Ev’ry Time We Say Goodbye,” Ella
Fitzgerald continued work on the Cole Porter Songbook album by recording a
droll and witty song about love.
Although on the face of it “Let’s Do It (Let’s Fall in Love)” is about love, in
fact the whole song is one long euphemism for sex. Of all the great singers there
have ever been, Ella Fitzgerald is not one you would immediately associate with
the subject. Ella was a stately lady in build and demeanor. Sophisticated, yes;
sexy, no. To hear her, of all people, singing about sex thus gives her version of
this famous song a considerable frisson.
The song itself was written by Cole Porter in 1928 and featured in Paris, his
first Broadway success. Its lyrics consist of a long list (a conceit that became a
Porter staple) of suggestive pairings and preposterous double entendres. The
song starts with the simple statement that “Birds do it, bees do it”—referencing a
time-honored euphemism for sex. Verbal puns abound, the suggestion that
“Lithuanians and Letts do it” immediately and alliteratively leading into “Let’s
do it.” “Oysters down in Oyster Bay do it” works wonderfully as a line—oysters
live in oyster beds, and we all know what beds are for.
Without a word out of place, this much-covered song is three and a half
minutes of perfectly poised innuendo. SA
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Twenty years before Frank Sinatra made “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” his
own, American singer and actress Virginia Bruce sang it in the musical Born to
Dance (1936). Sinatra began singing the Cole Porter–penned song in the 1940s,
but it was 1956 before a scintillating, swinging big-band arrangement by Nelson
Riddle provided the singer with what many fans argue was his best recording. Its
musical centerpiece—the slow-build crescendo, exploding into Milt Bernhardt’s
joyous slide-trombone solo—was inspired partly by Ravel’s Boléro, although
Bernhardt’s contribution to Stan Kenton’s “23 Degrees North 82 Degrees West”
was an influence, too.
Opening Side Two of his No. 2-charting album Songs For Swingin’ Lovers!,
the track showed all the exuberance of a performer at the top of his game. The
album went one better in the United Kingdom, topping the very first U.K. album
chart, in July 1956, and—weirdly—even entering the singles chart a month
earlier. However, “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” didn’t get any additional
exposure as a proper single release until much later.
Sinatra had an enduring passion for “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” that saw
it feature in concert set lists right up to his final public performances, in 1994.
And, paying credit where credit was due, the legendary singer often referred to it
as “Nelson Riddle’s shining hour.” DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
By the mid-Fifties, Ella Fitzgerald was a singer out of time. The commercial
success she had enjoyed with Chick Webb’s band during the swing era was now
over. She was rescued by the advent of the LP era and a commercially and
artistically astute record producer, Norman Granz. He signed her up to his new
Verve record label and proposed she record a series of albums, each one
dedicated to a great American songwriter.
The first, the Cole Porter Songbook, spread over two LPs, appeared in 1956
and was an immediate success. Among its many highlights was a song originally
written by Porter in 1944 for the musical Seven Lively Arts. “Ev’ry Time We Say
Goodbye” is a love song made all the more effective by its simple lyrics—just
ten lines in all—and far-from-complex melody. The start of six of the lines—
including the words of the title—is sung on a hypnotically repeating single note.
As the melody reaches its sweeping climax, Porter underlines the melancholy
theme of the song by echoing the concluding words with a key change from a
happy major key to a sadder, more bluesy, minor key—a device used by Handel
and other Baroque composers among others—the music mirroring the words.
Buoyed by the success of the Cole Porter album, Ella went on to make
memorable recordings of the songbooks of Rodgers and Hart, Duke Ellington,
Irving Berlin, and George and Ira Gershwin. SA See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Be-Bop-A-Lula
Gene Vincent & His Blue Caps (1956)
Writer | Tex Davis, Gene Vincent Producer | Ken Nelson Label | Capitol
Album | N/A
Gene Vincent is rockabilly’s dark prince, his startling Fifties recordings and
short, troubled life lending him iconic status. “Be-Bop-A-Lula,” his first record
and biggest hit, remains an anthem, a song that continues to sound both sexy and
eerie.
Vincent Eugene Craddock grew up listening to country, bluegrass, gospel,
and blues at his parents’ store in Norfolk, Virginia. During a stint in the U.S.
Navy, he badly injured his left leg in a motorcycle accident. Focusing on
singing, Vincent was spotted by local DJ Tex Davis, who, aware that Capitol
Records in L.A. wanted some of the action being generated by Elvis, cut a demo
on Vincent.
Gene Vincent & His Blue Caps were dispatched to Nashville. Producer Ken
Nelson had no idea how to record rock ’n’ roll, and session musicians were hired
in case the Blue Caps proved incompetent. Instead, Vincent’s band, led by
guitarist Cliff Gallup, delivered a bravura performance, the rhythm section
pulling out a slinky groove while Vincent whispers in a fine Presley imitation
about his baby and how he “don’t mean maybe.” Gallup’s spiraling guitar solos
and the whoops of bassist “Jumpin’” Jack Neal helped create a rockabilly
template that everyone from The Beatles to The Clash has attempted to emulate.
After “Be-Bop-A-Lula” scaled the world’s charts, Vincent’s career went
steadily downhill. He died from alcoholism, aged thirty-six, in 1971. GC
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Heartbreak Hotel
Elvis Presley (1956)
Writer | Mae Boren Axton, Tommy Durden, E. Presley Producer | Steve Sholes
Label | RCA
Album | N/A
“I walk a lonely street.” That line, taken from a suicide note and quoted in a
local newspaper report, inspired writers Mae Boren Axton and Tommy Durden
to pen Elvis’s breakthrough hit—although initially it seemed anything but.
Demo vocalist Glenn Reeves thought the title daft and disliked the song so
much that he wanted his name kept off it. Elvis’s erstwhile mentor Sam Phillips
denounced it as a “morbid mess”; RCA’s A&R man, Steve Sholes, fretted that
he’d signed the wrong Sun artist, and wondered whether he should have opted
for Carl Perkins instead; his superiors told him to re-record it.
True, attempts to mimic the clean “slapback” reverb characteristic of
Phillips’s Sun recordings had been flawed at best. (RCA’s engineers wound up
recording in a hallway, for its echo, resulting in a far murkier sound.) But this
lumbering, bluesy lament—quite unlike anything else in mid-Fifties pop—
proved mesmerizing, from Floyd Cramer’s ghostly barroom piano, to Scotty
Moore’s jagged solo, momentarily breaking up the somnolent mood. Elvis’s
trademark swooping, slurred vocal made it, of course. “His phrasing, his use of
echo, it’s all so beautiful,” Paul McCartney reflected admiringly nearly fifty
years later. “As if he’s singing it from the depths of hell.” Teenagers everywhere
could relate to that, and they bought up this tale of alienation and rejection in
droves. RD
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Blueberry Hill
Fats Domino (1956)
By 1956, Fats Domino had already scored more than a dozen Top Ten R&B
singles. The song “Blueberry Hill” had an equally impressive track record:
published in 1940, the tune had been recorded by such notable entertainers as
Glenn Miller and Louis Armstrong (in 1949—the recording that inspired
Domino to cut the song). Domino’s version of the song was forlorn yet not
tearful, and the instruments revealed more heart than the words. His piano work
was concise and gripping, while his voice remained steady as he told the story of
love found, then lost, beginning with the famous line, “I found my thrill . . .”
“Blueberry Hill” was the natural choice to open This Is Fats, but it almost
didn’t make the cut. On the day the song was recorded, at Hollywood’s Master
Recorders, the sheet music was lost and Domino kept forgetting the lyrics. He
never made it through a complete take, and the final product was spliced
together by engineer Bunny Robyn from aborted efforts.
No one noticed, and “Blueberry Hill” reached No. 2 on the pop charts (it
spent eleven weeks at No. 1 on the R&B listings). The song’s success would
quickly inspire other rockers, including Elvis Presley and Little Richard, to
release their own renditions—and, reportedly, inspired the bass line to The
Doors’ 1967 breakthrough hit, “Light My Fire.” JiH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Hound Dog
Elvis Presley (1956)
Writer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Producer | Steve Sholes Label | RCA
Album | N/A
Honey Hush
The Johnny Burnette Trio (1956)
Writer | Big Joe Turner Producer | Owen Bradley Label | Coral Album | N/A
When Johnny Burnette’s guitarist, Paul Burlison, inadvertently knocked over his
Fender Deluxe amp, he discovered that his clean, twangy guitar sound had
mutated into a distorted growl. As a trained electrician, Burlison diagnosed that
the effect was caused by a dislodged vacuum tube and that he could re-create it
on demand. By fortuitous accident, he had invented fuzz guitar.
This vicious, electrifying new sound was unleashed on the trio’s third single,
which coupled Tiny Bradshaw’s “Train Kept A-Rollin’” with a composition by
avuncular man-mountain Big Joe Turner from 1953. As recorded by Turner,
“Honey Hush” sounds almost like a dry run for his hit “Shake, Rattle and Roll”
the following year—an uptempo twelve-bar blues over which the singer
improvised light-hearted lyrics about keeping his woman in line (with a baseball
bat, if necessary). The Burnette version injects the song with the primitive vigor
of rockabilly—Johnny, howling and jabbering like a deranged hick, transforms
Turner’s good-natured jibes into something wild and menacing. Double-bass
player Dorsey Burnette and session guitarist Grady Martin rattle along in the
background, but it is Burlison’s springy lead that holds the ear. One of the first
instances of purposeful distortion committed to vinyl, it reverberates as if
plucked on a rubber band. Guitar heroes of the future listened and took note. SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
“I find it very, very easy to be true,” intoned Johnny Cash over half a century
ago. Recorded by Sun Studio owner Sam Phillips at the dawn of Cash’s career,
“I Walk the Line” sounds simultaneously naive and profound. The same clanky
instrumentation appeared on the early hits of Cash’s fellow Sun signing Elvis
Presley, and the simple guitar line cannot help but sound outmoded today, but
the lyrics give the song an air of wisdom that has prevailed over the decades.
When Cash sings, “I keep a close watch on this heart of mine,” it is his
vulnerability that you hear, but without his having to spell it out clearly. The
music is not predictable, either; each verse is preceded by a few seconds of
humming, a mesmeric device that Cash explained helped him to find the right
key (the original 1956 recording featured a key change before every verse) but
which lends the song a contemplative air.
“I Walk the Line” was re-recorded for the album of the same name eight
years after its release as a single, with a rearrangement and a cleaner production.
The song also provided the title for a 1970 film and the better-known 2005 Cash
biopic. He wrote bigger, more expostulatory songs across his long career, but
few that spoke as clearly to people about the human condition as this one. “I
Walk the Line” speaks with utter clarity to anyone prepared to listen. JMc See
all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Knoxville Girl
The Louvin Brothers (1956)
Writer | Traditional, arr. by Ira and Charles Louvin Producer | Ken Nelson
Label | Capitol
Album | Tragic Songs of Life (1956)
Although the writing credit beneath “Knoxville Girl” reads “Traditional,” the
origins of the song are believed to lie some four thousand miles away from
Knoxville, Tennessee, with either “The Bloody Miller,” a 1680s song about a
murder near the English town of Shrewsbury, or “The Berkshire Tragedy,”
another ancient English ballad. The song went through innumerable variations
—“The Oxford Girl” and “The Wexford Girl” among them—before winding up
in Tennessee and becoming the classic American murder ballad.
Having learned the song from their mother, Alabama-born brothers Ira and
Charles Loudermilk took it with them when they started out as performers in the
Forties. They soon dropped it in favor of gospel music, but “Knoxville Girl”
returned to their repertoire when the pair returned to secular song in the mid-
Fifties—their sponsor on radio staple Grand Ole Opry, Prince Albert tobacco,
preferred non-gospel tunes. And, as Charlie pointed out: “Work a gospel show,
make 500 dollars; work a country show, make 2,500.”
Owing more than a little to a Thirties reading of the song by another pair of
singing brothers, The Blue Sky Boys, the Louvins’ plangent recording appeared
in 1956. Charlie re-recorded the song just before his eightieth birthday, but Ira
was not around to hear it: his tempestuous life ended in 1965, courtesy of a
drunk driver in Missouri. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Ella
José Alfredo Jiménez (1956)
Thomas A. Dorsey started out as a blues pianist with Ma Rainey, co-writing with
Tampa Red “It’s Tight Like That,” a dirty blues that scored a huge hit in 1928.
He subsequently branched out into the genre that would make his name—gospel.
Dorsey wrote “Take My Hand, Precious Lord” in 1932, heartbroken and
disconsolate after his wife died in childbirth (the baby died soon afterward); the
melody was borrowed from George N. Allen’s 1844 hymn “Maitland.”
Immediately recognized as a gospel classic, the song established Dorsey as
Chicago’s preeminent gospel songwriter.
In 1929, the songwriter came across a teenaged Mahalia Jackson, not long in
town from New Orleans and already capable of “wrecking” churches. Dorsey
coached Jackson and the two toured together, she singing his songs and he
selling the new gospel tunes as sheet music. When Jackson recorded “. . .
Precious Lord” for Columbia in March 1956, the label arranged for the recording
session to be as thorough as a jazz or pop session. The power and grace of the
resulting recording made the singer a household name.
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. named Mahalia’s recording of the track as his
favorite song. Her performance of the song at King’s 1968 funeral gained her
(and the song) headlines around the world. Four years later, Aretha Franklin
would sing “. . . Precious Lord” at Jackson’s own funeral. GC
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Although released in 1956, it was not until a re-release coinciding with 1968’s At
Folsom Prison live album that Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” reached
the U.S. Billboard No. 1 slot. Cash was moved to write the song after seeing the
1951 documentary Inside the Walls of Folsom Prison while serving with the
U.S. Air Force in West Germany. He borrowed from the Gordon Jenkins song
“Crescent City Blues,” which led to a successful lawsuit from Jenkins following
the 1968 album release.
Cash identified closely with the imprisoned and downtrodden, and combined
two of the most popular elements of folk music—prison and train songs—in the
song. For the memorable lines “I shot a man in Reno / Just to watch him die,”
Cash recounted, “I sat with my pen in my hand, trying to think up the worst
reason a person could have for killing another person, and that’s what came to
mind. It did come to mind quite easily, though.”
Cash would become a firm favorite with the incarcerated, though on the live
version the whooping reception of the song’s grimmest lines is said to have been
added post-recording—the prisoners were too wary of guards’ reprisals to react
to any references to prison or criminal acts.
“Folsom Prison Blues” became a staple of Cash’s live performances and the
epitome of his man-in-black/rebel image, which saw him influence future music
from rockabilly to punk. CR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
“Rock Island Line” did more than any other record to popularize Britain’s short-
lived skiffle craze in the mid-Fifties. Glasgow-born Lonnie Donegan was
dubbed “The King of Skiffle” after this version of an old Arkansas prison song
—ostensibly about the Rock Island railroad that stretched from Chicago to
Mississippi—hit No. 8 in the charts on both sides of the Atlantic. (Country-blues
performer Lead Belly was the first to record the song, in 1930.) Lonnie
Donegan’s souped-up version, delivered at breakneck speed, was just what the
new breed of British teenager had been waiting for. The song was also one of the
first pop records to be promoted via television.
Don Cornell, in 1956, and Johnny Cash, in 1970, also covered the song with
minor U.S. chart success—Cash had covered the song in 1957, too—but it was
the energy evident in Lonnie Donegan’s nasal delivery that captured the
imagination of impressionable youngsters, such as the sixteen-year-old John
Lennon, who set about copying Donegan’s style of guitar playing and singing.
Unlike the B-side, “John Henry,” which has become a roots-music classic thanks
to twenty-first-century covers by the likes of Bruce Springsteen, “Rock Island
Line” has attracted comparatively few big-name artists of late, though there were
cover versions in the Eighties by Mano Negra and Little Richard & Fishbone.
DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Sunny David (Roy Hall), Dave Williams Producer | Jack Clement
Label | Sun
Album | N/A
Determined to audition at Sun Studio, Jerry Lee Lewis funded a trip to Memphis
in late 1956 by selling eggs. Sam Phillips was away, but producer Jack Clement
allowed the youngster to make an audition tape. Invited back, Lewis cut what
would be his first Sun single, “Crazy Arms”/”End of the Road.” At his second
session, with Clement again producing, he cut “Whole Lot of Shakin’ Going
On,” one of the most earth-shattering records in pop history.
The song was not new. A version produced by Quincy Jones and recorded by
R&B singer and pianist Big Maybelle in March 1955 had failed, as had a
recording the following September by Roy Hall, the song’s co-author. But it had
become a feature of Lewis’s live set, and a rapturously received performance at a
small Arkansas club in early 1957 persuaded Jerry Lee to try it at Sun.
Released to early indifference, the record owed its eventual success to
television. Those raw, piano-pounding rhythms were one thing on the radio, but
after millions saw the dramatic way Jerry Lee performed the song for his TV
debut on The Steve Allen Show, the record began its rise up the Billboard chart in
the summer of 1957, eventually selling more than six million copies. Jerry Lee
Lewis had achieved his first hit (U.S. No. 3; U.K. No. 8). Every rock ‘n’ roller
from Cliff Richard to Little Richard has attempted it, but it is Jerry Lee’s seismic
reading that has endured. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Jerry Allison, Buddy Holly, Norman Petty Producer | Norman Petty
Label | Brunswick Album | N/A
Buddy Holly’s No. 1 hit “That’ll Be the Day”—the title was inspired by a
drawled John Wayne catchphrase in the film The Searchers—helped to establish
one of rock ‘n’ roll’s true legends. But that song was a far cry from his 1956
version, which was slower, higher-pitched and . . . well, just not rock ‘n’ roll.
Perhaps Decca could be forgiven for not liking and not releasing it.
But dropping him from their roster was not a smart move (neither was
rejecting The Beatles’ demos, but that is another story), and a footloose Holly
took his demo to producer Norman Petty. Petty’s track record included Buddy
Knox’s “Party Doll” (a U.S. No. 1 in 1957). With a reshuffled band now called
The Crickets—featuring Jerry Allison (drums), Joe B. Maudlin (bass), and Niki
Sullivan (guitar)—Holly re-recorded a peppier version in a more comfortable
vocal range so that Petty could pitch it to Knox’s label, Roulette.
Roulette passed on it, as did Columbia, RCA, and Atlantic. But when Bob
Thiele, A&R director at Brunswick (ironically, a subsidiary of Decca), heard the
demo, liked it, and signed Holly, everything changed. Decca still owned “That’ll
Be the Day” by Buddy Holly, so Thiele released the re-recorded song under the
group name The Crickets. With a two-guitar, drum, and bass lineup, and lead
vocals replete with Holly’s trademark hiccups, here was the modern-era rock
band in the making. JJH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Little Darlin’
The Diamonds (1957)
Doo-wop purists sneer at The Diamonds, a preppy Canadian quartet who carved
out a career covering material by black vocal groups for a mainstream audience.
But with “Little Darlin’”—laid down in a single take as the studio clock
approached 4 a.m.—The Diamonds turned what could have been a lackluster
carbon copy into a bona fide (U.S. No. 2) hit. The original version, cut by
songwriter Maurice Williams with his group The Gladiolas, was an innovative
melding of R&B with elements of rumba and calypso, but had been let down by
its murky production (it had, after all, been recorded in the back room of a
Tennessee record mart).
The Diamonds retained the song’s original arrangement but brought to it a
spirit of assured showmanship, from the opening flurry of castanets to the
falsetto la-la-las from tenor Ted Kowalski. There are no drums—the drummer
had already left. Lead vocalist Dave Somerville reshaped Williams’s subdued
delivery into something verging on parody, exaggerating the end of each line
(“My dear-ah, I was wrong-ah”).
In the middle eight, suave bassman Bill Reed stepped forward to deliver a
spoken-word bridge in the mellifluous, dramatic fashion popularized by The Ink
Spots’ Hoppy Jones. This later inspired a performance by Bobby Pickett in the
sepulchral tones of horror star Boris Karloff. That on-stage gooning led to the
1962 hit “Monster Mash.” SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Jack Hammer, Otis Blackwell Producer | Sam Phillips Label | Sun
Album | N/A
This keyboard-pounding rock ’n’ roll classic was Jerry Lee Lewis’s biggest U.S.
chart hit. Peaking at No. 2 in the Billboard Hot 100, it was pipped at the top spot
by Danny & The Juniors’ “At the Hop” but had no such problems in the United
Kingdom, where it spent two weeks at No. 1 in 1958.
The song’s two creators did not share the workload equally. Jack Hammer
simply came up with the song title, while the songwriting was all down to Otis
Blackwell, who penned a catalog of rock ‘n’ roll greats including “All Shook
Up,” “Don’t Be Cruel,” and “Return to Sender” for Elvis Presley.
Lewis, nicknamed “The Killer” for his aggressive, wild-eyed performances
and sometimes shocking behavior, nevertheless had a certain sensitivity—
certainly when it came to the opening line of his most famous song. The original
line kicking off “Great Balls of Fire” was “Great God almighty. . . .” Doubtless
mindful of his God-fearing upbringing, Lewis changed the line to “Goodness
gracious, great balls of fire”—and one of the most memorable introductions in
rock was born.
Among a select few who have covered the song are Dolly Parton, on her
1979 album of the same name, and Tiny Tim, whose very different version
provided the B-side to his 1968 smash hit “Tip-Toe Through the Tulips with
Me.” The 1989 biopic Great Balls of Fire! starring Dennis Quaid as Lewis
helped to reignite Jerry Lee’s dormant career. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Edward Heyman, Victor Young Producer | Lee Gillette Label | Capitol
Album | Love Is the Thing (1957)
Nat King Cole first found fame in the late Thirties, leading a piano trio. By the
Fifties, though, he had reached the mainstream as a singer, enjoying a string of
pop hits that offered little evidence of the jazzer he had once been. On occasion,
the sacrifice was great; some of his later recordings are just too sugary for
comfort. But the LP Love Is the Thing, released in 1957, is lush, honeyed
perfection. It was Cole’s first album with Gordon Jenkins, who had arranged for
crooners such as Dick Haymes and, later, Frank Sinatra. Unlike contemporaries
such as Nelson Riddle, Jenkins never really swung, preferring ambrosial strings
to driving horns. It took a good ballad singer to elevate Jenkins’s sometimes
schmaltzy scores. And in the late Fifties, Cole was as good as they came.
The pair are at their best on “When I Fall in Love,” a song first heard in a
1952 Robert Mitchum flop called One Minute to Zero before being led into the
charts by Doris Day. Cole was modest about his vocal abilities, but his phrasing
here is immaculate, tracing a smooth arc over thick strings and, gliding in almost
unnoticed, a gentle rhythm section. Jenkins, too, is on fine form; even that
twinkling harp, a favorite trick, is put to good use. A U.K. hit on its first release,
the recording returned to the British charts in 1987, six years before the song
was brutalized by Céline Dion and Clive Griffin for Sleepless in Seattle. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
You Send Me
Sam Cooke (1957)
Writer | Charles “L. C.” Cooke (Sam Cooke) Producer | Bumps Blackwell
Label | Keen Album | N/A
The course of true love never did run smooth, and so it was with one of the great
pop love songs of all time. Indeed, the soft caress of “You Send Me” belies its
contentious birth. In 1957, Sam Cooke was singing gospel with the vocal group
The Soul Stirrers on the Specialty label. Wishing to avoid alienating gospel fans,
Cooke recorded and released a secular song, “Lovable,” under the pseudonym of
“Dale Cook.” Few were fooled. The single led to Cooke’s split from The Soul
Stirrers and the beginning of his career as a solo artist.
Staying with Specialty, Cooke redoubled his efforts at a crossover, working
with producer Bumps Blackwell on new material, including his own pop songs.
But when label owner Art Rupe heard the distinctly Caucasian background
singers on “You Send Me,” he reportedly protested that Cooke and Blackwell
had gone too far. The problem was effectively solved when Blackwell bought
both Cooke’s contract and the new masters from Rupe. “You Send Me” was then
released on Bob Keane’s new Keen label, with writing credits originally going to
Charles “L. C.” Cooke, Sam’s brother, for legal reasons. On the B-side was an
unusual take on Gershwin’s “Summertime.”
The single quickly shot up the charts, reaching No. 1 on both the pop and
R&B charts and going on to sell over two million copies. Sam Cooke, the
inventor of soul, had arrived. TS
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Johnny B. Goode
Chuck Berry (1958)
In 1977, NASA launched a gold-plated record into the vast silence of outer
space. It included a ninety-minute collection of songs representing cultures
around the world. Germany chose Bach and Beethoven. Britain picked a stately
song, “The Fairie Round.” The United States opted for Chuck Berry and the
timeless “Johnny B. Goode.”
The American selection offers remarkable testimony to how much a country
can change its attitudes over fewer than twenty years. In 1958, when Berry wrote
and recorded “Johnny B. Goode,” the people who would eventually make the
song their interstellar calling card were uneasy, to say the least, about what it
represented. Elvis Presley’s hips were cause for concern, sure, but here was a
black man who wrote all his own songs, played the guitar better than anyone else
on the radio, and had the gall to sing about turning this already alarming rock ‘n’
roll thing into big business.
Starting with a hair-raising riff (one that would eventually keep Keith
Richards in fake teeth) that he had lifted straight off a Louis Jordan record, Berry
told the story of a “country boy” who had little in the way of prospects but was
destined to become rich and famous, thanks to his effortless guitar picking. By
1958, Berry had already pioneered much of rock ’n’ roll’s instrumentation and
rhythm. With “Johnny B. Goode,” he was to introduce its next vital feature: ego.
MO
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Move It!
Cliff Richard & The Drifters (1958)
In 1958, Britain woke up to its very own pouting, lip-curling version of Elvis:
“Move It!” had arrived and was shaking up the soporific music scene.
Cliff Richard & The Drifters (later, via a series of lineup changes, The
Shadows) got their big break at a Saturday-morning talent show at the Gaumont
cinema, Shepherd’s Bush, in London. Theatrical agent George Ganyou paid for
the group to tape a demo for pitching to record companies. EMI producer Norrie
Paramor was sufficiently impressed by recordings of rock ’n’ roll classics
“Breathless” and “Lawdy Miss Clawdy” to go ahead with an audition. The result
was an acetate featuring American Bobby Helm’s ballad “Schoolboy Crush” on
the A-side. On the flip side was a rocking number written by London guitarist
and one-time Drifter Ian Samwell. Samwell’s guitar-booming track “Move It!”
was a sensation when innovative TV producer and broadcaster Jack Good
showcased Richard on his TV show Oh Boy! The exposure shot “Move It!”
(now the A-side) up the U.K. singles chart to No. 2.
The echo-laden guitar intro proved a compelling way to start the record, but
it was the smouldering sex appeal of the vocals that sold the song—and kick-
started Richard’s six-decade pop career. For the British, who might never see
Elvis, “Move It!” was the closest thing to the real deal before the beat boom
displaced rock ‘n’ roll. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
La Bamba
Ritchie Valens (1958)
Los Angeles record man Bob Keane first encountered sixteen-year-old Richard
Valenzuela playing an L.A. cinema. Recognizing Valenzuela’s raw talent, Keane
signed him to his Del-Fi label, shortening his polysyllabic moniker to Ritchie
Valens. Keane helped Valens develop his material and paired him with fine
session musicians such as drummer Earl Palmer and guitarist René Hall.
Valens hailed from a Mexican-American household and had grown up
listening to mariachi, flamenco, and blues. When Keane heard him messing
about with “La Bamba”—a popular Mexican wedding song by Vera Cruz—he
suggested Valens transform it into a rocker. Valens was initially reluctant, not
being a fluent Spanish speaker and also apprehensive that Mexicans might
dislike a rocked-up take on this well-known tune. Keane prevailed, and together
they created a blazing masterpiece of Mexican-American rock ‘n’ roll. It leaps
out of the speakers, a musical hotrod, with Valens’s wild guitar inviting listeners
to a blasting Chicano party. The circling three-chord trick was an influence on
many rock ‘n’ roll staples, notably The Isley Brothers’ “Twist and Shout.”
“La Bamba” was released as the B-side of Valens’s second hit single, the
swooning ballad “Donna.” But then DJs started playing its flip side as well, and
by January 1959 “La Bamba” too was rising up the U.S. charts, eventually
hitting No. 22. GC
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Yakety Yak
The Coasters (1958)
Writer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Label |
Atco
Album | N/A
The Coasters were on a roll in the late Fifties. The Los Angeles vocal troupe
scored fourteen R&B hits during their career, six of which were also pop Top
Ten hits. But it was “Yakety Yak” that secured the band’s legacy as a primary
architect of rock ‘n’ roll.
Coming under the wing of the legendary songwriting team of Jerry Leiber
and Mike Stoller in 1955, The Coasters found immediate success by spinning
what their mentors called “playlets”—short, comedic story-songs. In the case of
“Yakety Yak,” the playlet addressed the everyday dance between parent and teen
around the household chores. “Take out the papers and the trash,” the parent
orders. The kicker is that the kid simply translates the instructions as “yakety
yak.” The Coasters’ doo-wop–inspired four-part vocal attack, confidently led by
Carl Gardner, is nicely augmented here by Adolph Jacobs’s rollicking guitar and
King Curtis’s squawking tenor saxophone (aka his “yakety sax”)—a quirky and
defining feature of many classic Coasters tracks.
The group followed with a trio of 1959 smash recordings—“Charlie Brown,”
“Along Came Jones,” and “Poison Ivy”—before their brand of music fell out of
fashion. “Yakety Yak,” however, would not be silenced—it was passed down
through generations, thanks to its inclusion in Fifties-music compilations,
various soundtracks, and, perhaps most significantly, children’s cartoons. JiH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
At the Hop
Danny & The Juniors (1958)
Writer | Arthur Singer, John Medora, David White Producer | Arthur Singer
Label | ABC-Paramount
Album | N/A
With its four opening “bahs” over a rollicking Jerry Lee Lewis–style piano, “At
the Hop” hits you in the solar plexus and never gives you time to draw breath
thereafter. This is consummate high-school dance music fifty years before High
School Musical.
Baritone Joe Terranova calls the first “bah” (and “oh baby”), followed by
lead vocalist Danny Rapp, then second tenor Frank Maffei, and finally first tenor
Dave White. The four barber-shop-with-beat singers started as The Juvenairs in
a Philadelphia high school. After playing school gigs, private parties, and
occasional clubs, they were discovered by local record producer Arthur “Artie”
Singer, of Singular Records. He gave them vocal lessons and persuaded them to
change their name.
The group actually sang “At the Bop” on a demo given to Dick Clark,
presenter of American Bandstand (think Corny Collins Show in Hairspray). He
suggested to co-writers Dave White and John Medora that they rewrite the single
using the slang term for high-school dances, “Hop,” rather than that for last
year’s model dance craze, “Bop.” The recut song hit No. 1 on Billboard on
January 6, 1958, and stayed there for five weeks.
Today most people know “At the Hop” from Sha Na Na’s frantic stage
performance at Woodstock. Throughout the Seventies, that band, and a version
of The Juniors, played the revival circuit, and “At the Hop” was a hit again in
1976. JJH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Stagger Lee
Lloyd Price (1958)
“Stagger Lee” relates the tale of Lee Shelton, a black American cab driver and
pimp who, on Christmas Eve 1895, shot his friend William “Billy” Lyons in a
bar in St. Louis, Missouri. The two had been drinking and started to argue about
politics. Lyons snatched Lee’s hat off his head and refused to give it back. In
response, Lee shot Lyons, retrieved his hat, and calmly walked out of the bar.
Lyons later died of his wounds; Shelton was tried and convicted of the crime and
sent to prison.
The power of the song lies not in the fairly unremarkable crime but in the
archetypal figure of Stagger Lee, a tough black man who is cool, amoral, and
defies white authority and laws. The song itself originally appeared in black
communities along the lower Mississippi River in the early years of the
twentieth century and was first published by the folklorist John Lomax in 1910.
Mississippi John Hurt recorded a definitive reading in 1928, and many other
versions of the song exist.
Price turned the song into an R&B shouter, buoyed along by a big brass
section, vocal responses, and a honking tenor-saxophone solo. He had first
performed it while on military service in Korea and Japan in 1953–56, getting
his fellow soldiers to act out a play he had written while he sang it. Out of the
military, he revisited the song, achieving great success when it reached No. 1 on
the Billboard Hot 100 chart in January 1959. SA See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Summertime Blues
Eddie Cochran (1958)
The definitive images of rock ’n’ roll rebellion are a kid with a car, a kid with a
quiff and a kid with a guitar. Eddie Cochran, who died at the cruelly young age
of twenty-one, is intimately connected with all three. He had only two years as a
musician, leaving his all-time classics, “Summertime Blues” and “C’mon
Everybody,” for the new generation of teenagers to cherish into their middle
years and beyond. Along the way, those songs inspired a whole raft of rockers,
from The Who to Marc Bolan.
Although Elvis Presley took rock ‘n’ roll into the U.S. charts a couple of
years before Cochran, his image was more about sex than rebellion; Eddie added
a twist of teenage anger to the mix, venting his displeasure at the voting age for
U.S. citizens and thus giving a voice to a generation of disgruntled youth.
“Summertime Blues” was not exactly Rage Against the Machine, but at the time,
when teens were just beginning to find their own identity, this song was cultural
dynamite.
The importance of the track has inevitably increased over the decades, with
commentators on Cochran’s work apparently unable to avoid using the “die
young, leave a good-looking corpse” cliché when writing about him. His death
in a car crash in England’s West Country, caused by a tire blowout, deprived the
world of more of his astute, raw expression. Who knows? He might have gone
on to be another Bob Dylan. JMc See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
“Quem não sentiu o swing de Henri Salvador?” asked Caetano Veloso. Who has
not felt the swing of Henri Salvador? Very, very few—even if the name of the
great chansonnier, who died in 2008, aged ninety, is unfamiliar. Salvador had
been Django Reinhardt’s second guitarist, playing with his American jazz heroes
after hours in Paris, and had gone west with bandleader Ray Ventura shortly
after the start of World War II.
Developing a style referred to as “chanson douce,” Salvador sang softly and
high, though with a rich timbre, accompanied by percussion and an acoustic
guitar. Sophisticated harmonically and with Caribbean inflections, his approach
brought him appearances on both The Ed Sullivan Show and Italian television. In
1958, the popular “Dans mon île” was added to the soundtrack of a long-
forgotten Italian film that somehow found its way to a Brazilian cinema. One
viewer who got far more than he bargained for was the composer Antônio Carlos
Jobim, who had been looking for inspiration to give him an advantage over João
Gilberto in their race to develop bossa nova. Here it was, fully formed and
waiting. The rest is history.
Fittingly, Salvador’s final album, Révérence, recorded in 2006, was a
Brazilian album and featured both a new version of “Dans mon île” and duets
with Veloso and Gilberto Gil, who at the time was the Brazilian Minister of
Culture. DH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Lonesome Town
Ricky Nelson (1958)
“He told us, ‘When I get to recording, I want you guys to do some
oohin’ and aahin’ behind me.’”
Gordon Stoker, The Jordanaires, 2000
By 1958, rock ‘n’ roll had told us of so many lovers nursing broken hearts that
there was no hope of a mere hotel being large enough to accommodate them—
they needed an entire city to themselves. But while Baker Knight’s lyric for
“Lonesome Town” is clearly indebted to the imagery of Elvis Presley’s first
RCA single, it is no simple retread of “Heartbreak Hotel.” The town where “the
streets are filled with regret” is a reference to that most unwelcoming of cities,
Hollywood, home to the so-called boulevard of broken dreams.
Knight’s minor-key ballad, inspired by the stark simplicity of Hank
Williams’s work, was written with The Everly Brothers in mind. But, perhaps
appropriately, it was instead given to a singer with a distinctly showbiz
background. Teenage idol Ricky Nelson had been a child star in the long-
running sitcom The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet (a precursor to such MTV
fodder as The Osbournes, with the Nelson family starring as themselves).
Ricky’s recording career began as an attempt to impress a girl: after a date had
gushed to him about how much she loved Elvis, he proclaimed that he too was a
singer.
“Lonesome Town” was a game-changer for Nelson; his early LPs had been
full of smoothed-down rock ‘n’ roll—not quite Pat Boone material, but far from
the authentic voice of teenage rebellion. But with this mournful lament came a
new maturity. In a move that anticipates his Sixties folkie phase as “Rick”
Nelson, he performs without backing musicians, instead picking forlornly at an
acoustic guitar. The only accompaniment comes from The Jordanaires, their
moody harmonizing evoking the lost souls of the eponymous town. The
wannabe Elvis had found his own voice. SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Fever
Peggy Lee (1958)
“The rock ’n’ roll stuff . . . appeals [to young people] because it
stresses simple, basic rhythm. . . . It’s the rhythm.”
Peggy Lee, 1958
“Fever” arrived on Peggy Lee’s desk courtesy of Max Bennett, her bass player at
the time. A 1956 hit for R&B singer Little Willie John, the song was first heard
by Bennett at a minor club gig, and the bassist suspected it would suit Lee to a
tee. The singer agreed; after stripping back the arrangement, working in a couple
of key changes, and adding some verses of her own—but not copyrighting them:
“It didn’t occur to me,” she mused regretfully, thirty years later—Lee had a
considerable hit on her hands.
There is not much to choose between John’s original and Lee’s whitewashed
reinvention. John’s cracked vocal is dirtier and more desperate, and the band
behind him is bigger. Lee’s reading, though, is more mysterious and sultry,
backed by nothing more than Shelly Manne’s drums (beaten with his bare
hands), Howard Roberts’s finger-clicks, and, on bass, not Bennett but Joe
Mondragon. Having suggested the song to Lee, presumably with one eye on
playing its dominant bass line, Bennett then missed the session because he had
gone on tour with Ella Fitzgerald.
Peggy Lee’s cover outperformed Little Willie John’s original, reaching the
Top Ten on both sides of the Atlantic in 1958. It went on to become her
signature song, a favorite of audiences in a performing life that ran for a further
four decades. But perhaps the most interesting post-“Fever” career arc belongs to
the then unfortunately absent but influential Bennett, a jobbing jazzer who later
reinvented himself as an electric bassist. More than a decade later, he was to
appear on on such disparate rock classics as Frank Zappa’s Hot Rats and
Chunga’s Revenge, and Joni Mitchell’s The Hissing of Summer Lawns. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Conceived in the wake of the singer’s split with Ava Gardner, three years before
its release, In the Wee Small Hours was Sinatra’s first successful concept album,
sixteen ballads of lovelorn despair built around empathetic Nelson Riddle
arrangements. After its release, which cemented the singer’s transition from teen
idol to adult artist, Sinatra continued to follow the themed-album path, following
upbeat, swinging collections with melancholy affairs. Only the Lonely is in the
latter category; “One for My Baby” is its keynote address.
With lyrics by Johnny Mercer, himself no stranger to alcohol-soaked misery,
“One for My Baby” first appeared in the 1943 movie The Sky’s the Limit,
unconvincingly delivered by a too-smooth Fred Astaire. Sinatra later tackled it
twice, but neither rendition had taken wing. So for Only the Lonely, he took the
tempo down, asked Riddle to keep out of the way, and brought pianist Bill
Miller into the spotlight.
Unlike Astaire, Sinatra does not oversell the drunken overtones. His “One
for My Baby” is more memorable for how he inhabits the rest of the lyric: the
near-whispered delivery of the first verse, the flat desperation as he urges the
bartender to “make the music easy and sad,” the way he backs away from the
mic at the end. In his biography of the singer, Will Friedwald described it as “the
finest piece of musical acting Sinatra ever turned in.” WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Porte des Lilas, proudly serving commuters since 1921, is one of the better-
known Métro stations in Paris. Credit much of that to filmmakers—a 1958
Oscar-nominated movie bore the same name, and the station is featured in Meryl
Streep’s 2009 film Julie & Julia—and also to Serge Gainsbourg.
The famed provocateur-vocalist gave the station somewhat undesirable
exposure with the hit French song “Le poinçonneur des Lilas” (The Conductor
of Lilas). It told of a ticket-puncher who found his job so deadly dull that he
daydreamed of quitting—not just the gig but life itself. “I make holes, little
holes. . . . There’ll come a crazed moment, when I’ll take a gun / Make myself a
little hole, a little hole. . . . They’ll put me in a huge hole.” Gainsbourg was not
the first to have these kinds of morbid thoughts, but he was likely the first to turn
them into a pop song. The piano-based tune chugged along on a rhythm like a
speedy train. Sung with old-fashioned chanson gusto, it resonated with those
stuck in dead-end jobs.
The song was offered up as track one on Gainsbourg’s 1958 debut LP, which
meant that listeners quickly discovered how this singer differed from most
popular artists of the day. Gainsbourg continued to travel a controversial road
throughout his career, which took in orgasmic sighs on 1969’s “Je t’aime . . .
moi non plus” and an eyebrow-raising duet with his daughter on 1985’s “Lemon
Incest.” JiH
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
It is hardly surprising that a song that translates as “In the Blue Painted Blue”
came to be known simply as “Volare” (to fly), after its chorus hook. Although
far from being a one-hit wonder in his native Italy, Domenico Modugno never
matched the success of this breakthrough smash, which spent five weeks at the
top of the U.S. charts in 1958 and earned him two Grammys and three gold
discs. All through a lengthy musical career, and even when he became a
politician, he was referred to by the nickname of “Mr. Volare.”
According to co-writer Franco Migliacci, the idea for the words of “Nel blu
dipinto di blu” came to him one day as he was gazing absentmindedly at the
back of a packet of cigarettes. Somehow the visuals inspired a lyric about a man
who dreams that he has swept up into the sky after painting his face and hands
blue. Modugno helped to finish the words and added the tune. Wedded to a
brassy big-band arrangement, the song was soon a hit.
After winning at the Sanremo Music Festival in 1958, the song became
Italy’s entry in that year’s Eurovision Song Contest. Although it reached only
third place at the time, it was voted the second most popular song in Eurovision
history in the contest’s fiftieth-anniversary celebrations, pipped by ABBA’s
“Waterloo.” Cliff Richard, David Bowie, and the Gipsy Kings are among the
many artists that have covered it, in various languages. JLu See all songs from
the 1950s
1950s
Brothers Don and Phil Everly began their chart career with two rock ‘n’ roll
smash hits when debut “Bye Bye Love” and “Wake Up Little Susie” made No. 2
and No. 1 respectively on the Billboard Hot 100. But it was the slower, sleepy
“All I Have to Do Is Dream” that best promoted the duo’s unique selling point.
Their sublime, apparently effortless, high harmonies were given the perfect
vehicle by songwriters Boudleaux and Felice Bryant, who completed the song in
just fifteen minutes.
“All I Have to Do Is Dream” was recorded in March 1958 and released a
month later. The distinctive sound was managed by Cadence record label owner
and producer Archie Bleyer. An even greater influence on the recording was
Chet Atkins, who contributed the shimmering tremolo guitar effect that sets the
tone from the opening second. “Chet Atkins was the reason we came to
Nashville,” admitted Phil Everly.
The song became the brothers’ first of two transatlantic chart-toppers and
continued to provide hits for a succession of artists. “One of the most important
songs we ever recorded,” reckoned Phil. Sixties genres such as surf pop and
country rock would take their lead from the duo’s singing style—Californian
teenager David Crosby and Manchester youngster Graham Nash later co-formed
Crosby, Stills & Nash, adapting the close harmonies on similarly seminal
recordings. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
No long slog to hit the top of the charts for Phil Spector: he struck gold with his
first hit. Spector’s ability to write, produce, and assemble a group was evident
from the start, when three former Fairfax High School students from Los
Angeles called themselves The Teddy Bears and recorded the plaintive “To
Know Him Is to Love Him.”
Inspired to write the song by the inscription on his father’s gravestone, the
teenage Spector picked his girlfriend’s best friend, Annette Kleinbard (who later
changed her name to Carol Connors and became a successful songwriter), to
sing the song with Marshall Leib, the third Teddy Bear, and himself. After
rehearsals, Spector arranged a session at which The Teddy Bears, plus debutant
drummer Sandy Nelson, cut “To Know Him Is to Love Him” at Hollywood’s
Gold Star Studios in twenty minutes flat. Newly created label Dore relegated the
track to a B-side, but a DJ in Fargo, North Dakota, had other ideas and began a
trend by flipping the disc. A ten-week buildup of sales resulted in the single
topping the Billboard Hot 100 in December 1958 for three weeks.
The song proved to be extremely adaptable. A favorite in early Beatles set
lists, it charted again for Peter & Gordon and Bobby Vinton. It even managed to
top the country chart in 1987, when beautifully hijacked by the legendary trio
Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
After many years in the United States, British-born Brian Holden returned to
find his homeland’s answer to rock ‘n’ roll was former jazzmen playing Bill
Haley–inspired swing on the BBC Light Programme. Adopting the name Vince
Taylor, he set about introducing Britain to the raucous, primitive beat of
rockabilly. Taylor’s early 45s were covers—Ray Smith’s “Right Behind You
Baby” and Johnny Ace’s “Pledging My Love”—but on the latter’s flipside was
this self-penned number.
From its opening bars, driven by Joe Moretti’s circling guitar, it was clear
that this was something quite different. In a land of Ford Consuls and Morris
Oxfords, the idea of an inamorata driving a tail-finned automobile was exotic
and new. In direct contrast to the mannered style of his British contemporaries,
Taylor’s wild vocals could almost have been cut at Sun Studios. He even calls
out, “Hangin’ on Scotty, here we go!” before the second solo, as if addressing
Elvis Presley’s guitarist Scotty Moore rather than the Scottish-born Moretti.
Although subsequently revered by everyone from Van Morrison to Joe
Strummer, the leather-clad rocker burned out rapidly. Increasingly addled by
drink and drugs, he memorably informed a 1964 audience: “My name is Mateus.
I’m the new Jesus, the son of God.” Little wonder, then, that he became the
model for David Bowie’s tale of rock ’n’ roll self-immolation on 1972’s Ziggy
Stardust. SP
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Writer | Ray Charles Producer | Ahmet Ertegun, Jerry Wexler Label | Atlantic
Album | What’d I Say (1959)
The story behind “What’d I Say” reads like a classic piece of Hollywood let’s-
do-the-show-right-here hokum. According to legend, Ray Charles and his well-
drilled band found themselves with a quarter-hour to fill at the end of a long
supper-club date. Having exhausted the group’s repertoire, Charles started
vamping a keyboard riff, improvising lyrics over the top as the other musicians
joined in. Cue audience pandemonium and a phone call to Jerry Wexler, with the
singer suggesting to his producer that he might have a little something here.
Even in its subsequent studio recording, boiled down by engineer Tom Dowd
into six and a half minutes and then split over two sides of a seven-inch single,
“What’d I Say” sounds, gloriously, as if the group are playing by ear. From this
point on, Charles ended every concert with this tune.
In terms of musical structure, “What’d I Say” is not much more than a
handful of rhyming couplets hitched to a by-the-book twelve-bar blues. But
records are not made on paper. The jumpy keyboard work, Milt Turner’s
propulsive, Latin-inflected drumming, and, most famously, Charles’s own
lascivious, gospel-inspired call-and-response vocal interplay with The Raelettes,
all combine to elevate “What’d I Say” into something remarkably potent and
thrilling. The single’s success prove that sometimes it is not what you play but
how you play it that counts. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
First heard as a part-sung, part-spoken duet by Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler in
the 1934 movie Dames, “I Only Have Eyes for You” entered the standards
repertoire quickly. As such, it was an easy target for the doo-wop scene, which
enjoyed a love affair with Tin Pan Alley during the Fifties. The slight surprise is
that the task of recording it fell to The Flamingos, a Chicago-based group who
had issued more than a dozen largely unsuccessful singles between 1953 and
1958.
The arrival among The Flamingos of arranger Terry Johnson and producer
George Goldner brought about a shift of focus. The group (a sextet) charted for
the first time in early 1959 with “Lovers Never Say Goodbye,” before Goldner
encouraged them to turn toward Tin Pan Alley for inspiration. The success was
immediate: grounded by a stately rhythm section, led by Nate Nelson’s plaintive,
elegant vocal and colored by an echo-soaked backing-vocal arrangement that
blends the ethereal and the pungent, “I Only Have Eyes for You” became the
group’s biggest hit, and remains one of the most striking singles of the Fifties.
The group never matched the song’s success. The recording, meanwhile, was
assured of immortality when it was granted starring roles in George Lucas’s
1973 movie American Graffiti and, twenty-five years later, an episode of Buffy
the Vampire Slayer. WF-J
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
Ne me quitte pas
Jacques Brel (1959)
“In those days [the mid-to late Sixties], hearing [Brel] sing was like a
hurricane blowing through the room.”
Scott Walker, 2008
Writer | Kurt Weill, Bertolt Brecht, Marc Blitzstein Producer | Ahmet Ertegun
Label | Atco
Album | That’s All (1959)
Slick and finger-clicking good, “Mack the Knife” was an extraordinary U.S. and
U.K. chart-topper at a time when most pop hits sang of heartache, hunks of love,
and loneliness. Here were lyrics describing death and robbery in a song written
in 1928 for the Brecht–Weill ballad “Die Moritat von Mackie Messer”—the
character of Messer being based on ne’er-do-well Macheath from John Gay’s
The Beggar’s Opera—which served as the theme for their Threepenny Opera.
Mark Blitzstein supplied English lyrics in 1954.
Bobby Darin was inspired to cover the song after hearing Louis Armstrong’s
1956 version. He was unsure at first about releasing it as a single, but it stayed
nine weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 and Darin’s jazzed-up rendition became
the definitive version, according to Frank Sinatra.
Sinatra was a good judge. Darin’s biggest hit gained him Grammy awards
for Best New Artist of 1959 and Best Vocal Performance. Although he would
never better “Mack the Knife,” his Top Ten hits stretched to the mid-Sixties,
after which, along with many other singing stars’, his popularity waned in the
post-Beatles singer-songwriter boom. But this show tune has never really gone
out of fashion, covered by off-duty Who vocalist Roger Daltrey on the 1989
Mack the Knife movie soundtrack and by Kevin Spacey, who played Darin in the
2004 biopic Beyond the Sea. DR
See all songs from the 1950s
1950s
It Ain’t Necessarily So
Diahann Carroll & The André Previn Trio (1959)
Writer | George and Ira Gershwin, DuBose Heyward Producer | Jack Lewis
Label | United Artists
Album | Porgy and Bess (1959)
George Gershwin’s “folk opera” Porgy and Bess opened on Broadway in 1935
to a mixed critical reception. Some were doubtful that it should even be called
opera, while others were unsure of Gershwin’s portrayal of African-Americans.
It took a long time for the opera to receive the attention it deserved, but two
of its songs, “Summertime” and “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” soon became
standards, recorded by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, and Bing
Crosby.
Porgy and Bess became an MGM film in 1959, featuring a cast including
Sidney Poitier, Dorothy Dandridge, Sammy Davis Jr. and Diahann Carroll. As
Carroll told the Daily Telegraph in the United Kingdom, “We were the only
blacks on the Paramount lot.” Despite the starry cast, many of the principals—
including Carroll—had their voices dubbed by opera singers, including on the
subsequent soundtrack album. Sammy Davis Jr. whose character, Sportin’ Life,
sings “It Ain’t Necessarily So,” had his own voice on the film—though he was
dropped from the soundtrack release due to contractual obligations.
The film’s score won an Oscar for André Previn, but he soon revisited it with
his trio and Carroll in a sparser, jazzier style, with Carroll adding a subtle
intensity to the song’s mockery of biblical teaching. Carroll was herself later to
win a Tony award and be nominated for an Oscar. DC
See all songs from the 1950s
1960s
• Motown takes U.S. R&B and soul to a wider international audience
• The Beatles conquer America and trigger the “British invasion” in
1964
• Bob Dylan plays loud and electric at the Newport Folk Festival in 1965
• The Love Generation convenes at the Woodstock Festival in 1969
• Violence at Altamont in 1969 signals the end of the hippie dream
Contents
Wondrous Place
Save the Last Dance for Me
Chaje shukarije
Oh Carolina
The Click Song (Qongqothwane)
Will You Love Me Tomorrow
Love Hurts
September Song
Shakin’ All Over
Non, je ne regrette rien
Spanish Harlem
Mad About the Boy
Lazy River
Back Door Man
The Red Rooster
Johnny Remember Me
I Fall to Pieces
Stand by Me
Blue Moon
Crazy
Tous les garçons et les filles
You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me
Boom Boom
He’s a Rebel
Do You Love Me
Your Cheating Heart
Cry Baby
La javanaise
Harlem Shuffle
On Broadway
Louie Louie
One Fine Day
In Dreams
Sally Go ’Round the Roses
Be My Baby
Surfin’ Bird
Sapore di sale
Leader of the Pack
Les copains d’abord
Samba malato
Walk On By
Don’t Gimme No Lip Child
E se domani
The Girl from Ipanema
A Change Is Gonna Come
Dancing in the Street
I Just Don’t Know What to Do with Myself
You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling
You Really Got Me
The House of the Rising Sun
Go ’Way from My Window
Amsterdam
La paloma
Sinnerman
The Irish Rover
Needle of Death
Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag
La bohème
California Dreamin’
Ticket to Ride
(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction
The Tracks of My Tears
Mr. Tambourine Man
Like a Rolling Stone
People Get Ready
Who Do You Love
The Carnival Is Over
Psycho
I’ve Been Loving You Too Long (to Stop Now)
Stop! In the Name of Love
Subterranean Homesick Blues
The Sounds of Silence
My Generation
Unchained Melody
Et moi et moi et moi
Stay with Me
Al-atlal
You’re Gonna Miss Me
Substitute
Eight Miles High
Sunny Afternoon
Paint It Black
Summer in the City
God Only Knows
(I’m Not Your) Stepping Stone
Mas que nada
El muerto vivo
Tomorrow Is a Long Time
Eleanor Rigby
River Deep—Mountain High
7 and 7 Is
96 Tears
Pushin’ Too Hard
Psychotic Reaction
Reach Out (I’ll Be There)
Good Vibrations
Dead End Street
The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Any More
Season of the Witch
Friday on My Mind
I’m a Believer
Dirty Water
I Feel Free
You Keep Me Hangin’ On
Happenings Ten Years Time Ago
Tomorrow Never Knows
The End
Electricity
Corcovado
Heroin
Chelsea Girls
For What It’s Worth
The Look of Love
I’d Rather Go Blind
(Your Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher & Higher
Strawberry Fields Forever
White Rabbit
Purple Haze
I’m a Man
Venus in Furs
Fire
Waterloo Sunset
Ode to Billie Joe
The Dark End of the Street
Suzanne
Respect
Montague Terrace (in Blue)
A Day in the Life
Alone Again Or
Tin Soldier
See Emily Play
A Whiter Shade of Pale
The Tears of a Clown
Sunshine of Your Love
Cold Sweat
The First Cut Is the Deepest
I Say a Little Prayer
The Snake
Oh Happy Day
Israelites
Wichita Lineman
I Heard It through the Grapevine
America
Ain’t Got No; I Got Life
Piece of My Heart
Say It Loud—I’m Black and I’m Proud
Hard to Handle
A minha menina
Sympathy for the Devil
Pressure Drop
Cyprus Avenue
Hey Jude
Voodoo Child (Slight Return)
The Pusher
The Weight
Days
My Way
The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face
I’m Just a Prisoner (of Your Good Lovin’)
She Moves through the Fair
Many Rivers to Cross
In the Ghetto
Oh Well, Parts 1 & 2
The Real Thing
Sister Morphine
Okie from Muskogee
Heartbreaker
Is That All There Is?
Sweetness
Suspicious Minds
Suite: Judy Blue Eyes
Pinball Wizard
Je t’aime . . . moi non plus
Is It Because I’m Black?
I Want to Take You Higher
The Court of the Crimson King
Whole Lotta Love
I Wanna Be Your Dog
Kick Out the Jams
I Want You Back
The Thrill Is Gone
1960s
Wondrous Place
Billy Fury (1960)
Pop idol Billy Fury, real name Ronald Wycherley, was a gifted recording artist,
songwriter, and rock ’n’ roller, also known for his stylish stage and TV work.
“Wondrous Place” proved to be the ideal vehicle for the man in the silver
lamé suit. Penned by two of Elvis’s songwriters, and originally cut in the United
States by Jim “Handyman” Jones, this was British pop’s own “Heartbreak
Hotel,” complete with echo-chamber delivery. TV pop svengali Jack Good was,
like Fury, convinced that the strange otherworldly nature of the song was a
perfect choice. “We both agreed that we wanted a steamy bayou thing: shades of
Elvis Presley’s ‘Crawfish.’ It was a wonderful stage number and Billy was
terrific on stage,” recalled Good.
With dramatic, eerie vocal pauses and minimal instrumental backing, the
song proved a showstopper in concert. Fury liked it so much that he recorded it
five times during his career. Although it is now classed alongside Cliff Richard’s
“Move It!” and Marty Wilde’s “Endless Sleep” as a British rock ‘n’ roll classic,
“Wondrous Place” made only No. 25 in the U.K. singles chart.
The song echoes down the decades. A turn-of-the-century TV commercial
for the Toyota Yaris featured the Billy Fury recording, and indie darlings The
Last Shadow Puppets recorded a truly wondrous version as a track to accompany
their 2008 debut single. DR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Doc Pomus, Mort Shuman Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Label
| Atlantic Album | N/A
Post-Elvis and pre-Beatles, much of the best pop originated in New York’s Brill
Building. Pomus and Shuman were among its finest songwriters, notching up
hits including “A Teenager in Love,” “Sweets for My Sweet,” “(Marie’s the
Name) His Latest Flame,” and “Can’t Get Used to Losing You.”
But none was more affecting than this U.S. No. 1 for The Drifters. “Save the
Last Dance for Me” features a Brazilian baion beat (Shuman was a self-
confessed “mambonik”) and is swathed in strings—innovative for the time,
though The Drifters had employed both before, in 1959. The narrative—boy
reminds girl who she will be leaving with after the dance—may seem well worn,
but a careful listen reveals notes of genuine anxiety (“If he asks . . . can he take
you home, you must tell him no”) among the everyday.
A childhood bout of polio had left Doc Pomus unable to walk without
crutches. At his wedding, in 1957, he warmly encouraged his new wife to enjoy
herself on the dance floor, but the experience was bittersweet: he knew he could
never partner her. A few years later, Pomus came across an old wedding
invitation; those mixed emotions rose up again and he penned the song. At the
recording session, Atlantic Records’ Ahmet Ertegun told singer Ben E. King the
origin of the words. Moved almost to tears, King turned in a beautiful vocal—
and Atlantic’s biggest hit single up to that point. RD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Chaje shukarije
Esma Redžepova (1960)
Rightly hailed as the “Queen of the Gypsies,” Esma Redžepova has brought
Balkan Gypsy music to international audiences for more than fifty years. She
was born in 1943 to a Roma family in Skopje, Macedonia, and sang and danced
from childhood. Discovered by Macedonian bandleader Stevo Teodosievski
after she won a talent quest in 1956, Esma left school to become a professional
singer.
Singing in Macedonian, Serbian, and her native tongue, Romany, Esma
became a favorite of President Tito, Yugoslavia’s visionary (if autocratic) ruler.
He sent Esma & Ensemble Teodosievski abroad as representatives of socialist
Yugoslavia, and their dynamic blend of Oriental ballads and Balkan dance tunes
won over huge audiences.
“Chaje shukarije” (“Beautiful Girl” in Romany) was one of Esma’s first hits.
The song tells of a young man in love with a beautiful girl who rejects him. Sung
over a pulsing accordion, clarinet, and hand drum, “Chaje shukarije” rips along
with a bright chorus that ensures audiences shout for it whenever Esma
performs. The song has gone on to become a Balkan standard, performed by
Gypsy brass bands, pop singers, jazz bands, and more. In 2007, it was used over
the opening credits to Sacha Baron Cohen’s comedy Borat! Esma is a living
legend in the Balkans and has twice been nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize
because of her work with refugees from the Yugoslav wars. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Oh Carolina
Folkes Brothers (1960)
Of course, the Jamaican music industry already existed before “Oh Carolina”
was released, yet to many it is this track that marks the beginning of Jamaica’s
musical maturity. Here is the first recording with a Rastafarian flavor, the first
Prince Buster production, and the first example of how timeless Jamaican pop
could be.
The Folkes Brothers—John, Mico, and Junior—had met Prince Buster at
Duke Reid’s liquor store, where they had gone to audition. The music they sang
was mento (a shuffling 1950s-era Jamaican sound) in style, yet Buster
recognized something distinctive about their songs. He had already made a name
for himself running outdoor sound systems, and was now looking to set himself
up as a producer and label owner. Buster was impressed by the brothers and
invited them to record. Joined by Owen Gray on piano and Count Ossie, a Rasta
elder who played the Nyahbhingi drum (which added a palpable African flavor),
“Oh Carolina” came together in the studio as the brothers sang their hearts out.
The song was an immediate hit in Jamaica and established Prince Buster in
the music business. The Folkes Brothers quickly faded from view, although John
Folkes reappeared to fight (and beat) Prince Buster in court over who wrote “Oh
Carolina” (and thus received publishing royalties) when Shaggy scored
internationally with it. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
She was a singer, actress, and political activist. She performed for presidents and
had audiences with the pope. She was the first African woman to win a Grammy
Award and was known as “Mama Afrika,” the “Empress of African Song.” But
it is for a lullaby about a black dung beetle knocking its abdomen on the ground
as a mating call that Miriam Makeba remains perhaps best known outside her
native continent. Her interpretation of the traditional Xhosa folk song,
“Qongqothwane” opened Western ears to African music.
American audiences were enchanted by the onomatopoeic range of vocalized
clicks in Makeba’s native Xhosa vernacular. Time magazine compared this
distinctive sound, made with a percussive flick of the tongue off the palate, to
“the popping of champagne corks,” and hailed Makeba as “the most exciting
new singing talent to appear in many years.” From the first rhapsodic reviews in
Billboard magazine in 1960, Makeba was tagged by journalists as the “click-
click girl.”
While “The Click Song” would become her signature tune in live
performance over the next five decades, Makeba herself had a love/hate
relationship with it. As a vocal proponent of black consciousness, she was all too
aware of its novelty value as an “exotic” signifier. It was only after the end of
apartheid that she recorded a new studio version on her final album, Reflections
(2004). MK
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Gerry Goffin, Carole King Producer | Luther Dixon Label | Scepter
Album | Tonight’s the Night (1961)
The Shirelles’ 1961 Billboard No.1 is significant because it ushered in the era of
the girl group, which would dominate pop music until The Beatles stormed
America, and—in the wake of The Drifters’ No. 2 “There Goes My Baby”—
cemented the relationship between soul and riffs played on strings. Yet its most
important achievement is the way it pushed the envelope regarding sexual
explicitness, cannily bridging the divide between Eisenhower’s America (when
it was recorded) and Kennedy’s Camelot (when it charted).
Nice girls didn’t put out when Gerry Goffin added words to a tune his young
wife, Carole King, had left on a tape recorder while she went to play mah-jongg,
and Shirelles singer Shirley Owens was none too happy with the story she had to
tell. Yet from here it would be a short, slippery slope to Hair, Oh! Calcutta! and
free love. This is the Lady Chatterley’s Lover of pop.
Although brilliantly sung and possessing a tremendous melody, the song is
made by the unmistakable jeopardy in the lyrics. A teenage girl is considering
surrendering her virginity and wants a commitment from her boyfriend that he
will still be there should there be consequences (this is a song dating from the
pre-Pill, pre-abortion era). The fact that you know Owens has already made up
her mind makes her apparent uncertainty all the more powerful. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Love Hurts
The Everly Brothers (1960)
The Everly Brothers chose to highlight their family ties from the start: one of the
duo’s earliest albums, a spartan collection of traditional tunes, was called Songs
Our Daddy Taught Us. In truth, though, the emphasis was unnecessary. The
effortless way that Don and Phil Everly’s voices blended, usually in sweet,
keening thirds, gave the game away, eventually proving to be an influence on
acts such as The Beatles and Simon & Garfunkel.
The brothers released their first single in 1956, when Don was nineteen and
Phil a mere seventeen. Success came after the pair connected with Boudleaux
and Felice Bryant, a husband-and-wife songwriting team who had moved to
Nashville in the late Forties and seen their songs picked up by acts such as Little
Jimmy Dickens and Carl Smith. “Bye Bye Love,” the Everlys’ first hit, came
from the couple’s pen, as did subsequent chart-toppers “Wake Up Little Susie”
(by both Bryants) and “All I Have to Do Is Dream” (by Boudleaux alone). “Love
Hurts,” another Boudleaux composition, is simple, stately, and beautiful.
The Everlys had twenty-six U.S. Top Forty hits and thirty U.K. chart entries.
Surprisingly, “Love Hurts” was not among them; it appeared only as an album
track. However, it has become one of their best-known songs, thanks to covers
by Joan Jett, Roy Orbison, and, perhaps most memorably, Gram Parsons and
Emmylou Harris. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
September Song
Ella Fitzgerald (1960)
In April 1960, Ella Fitzgerald took a break from the arduous recording schedule
of her Great American Songbook series. In the company of just a pianist, Paul
Smith, she recorded thirteen songs for the soundtrack to Let No Man Write My
Epitaph. The film is based on the 1958 novel by Willard Motley and is set in the
poverty and crime of Chicago’s South Side. Ella plays a junkie piano player,
appearing alongside Shelley Winters and Burl Ives, among others. The film has
long since disappeared, but the music can still be heard on CD under the title The
Intimate Ella.
One of the songs included on the soundtrack was by the prominent German
composer Kurt Weill, a Jewish refugee from the Nazis who had settled in the
United States in 1935. Once in America, he moved away from his politically
engaged music with Bertolt Brecht and immersed himself in the American
musical and popular song. Among his first efforts was Knickerbocker Holiday, a
1938 Broadway musical with lyrics by Maxwell Anderson, which featured
“September Song.”
It is a delightful, slow-paced love song about a lover spending a “few
precious days” with her beloved. Ella not so much sings the song as caresses it,
toning down her full-bodied voice into a gentle croon. Pianist Paul Smith is her
perfect foil, gently supporting her every word. An intimate moment in a
perfectly subdued set. SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Written four years before its recording, “Non, je ne regrette rien” swiftly became
Edith Piaf’s signature song. The French songstress initially dedicated her
recording to the French foreign legion, which at the time was engaged in the
Algerian War. The First Regiment Foreign Paratroopers soon adopted the song
when the civilian leadership of Algeria’s resistance was broken. “Non, je ne
regrette rien” has since become an integral part of the French foreign legion
heritage.
Piaf’s commitment to the interpretation of a song, the way she inhabits it,
has influenced generations of singers since—and not only the obvious ones.
“Edith Piaf is my particular idol,” a Ziggy-era David Bowie declared in 1973.
(He later cited epic Ziggy Stardust closer “Rock ‘n’ Roll Suicide” as Fifties rock
flavored with Piaf-esque chanson.) “I’ve never seen her live, only seen her
perform on film, and what I saw was the greatest amount of energy given out
with the least amount of movement.” Two years later, an admiring Emmylou
Harris confessed, “I don’t understand a word she’s saying, but she just breaks
my heart.”
In 2000, Lou Reed paid heartfelt tribute to Piaf’s ability to interpret the
sentiments of song with the skill of an actor: “The whole thing is that you’ve got
to believe the singer. You believe Edith Piaf.” The passion and gusto of Piaf’s
delivery on “Non, je ne regrette rien” are ample confirmation of that. KL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Spanish Harlem
Ben E. King (1961)
Writer | Jerry Leiber, Phil Spector Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Label |
Atco Album | N/A
Soul singer Ben Nelson was born in North Carolina in 1938 and, aged nine,
moved to Harlem, New York. He joined the Five Crowns doo-wop combo in
1958, but when the manager of The Drifters sacked the entire group later that
year, he replaced them with The Five Crowns. Nelson sang on ten of The
Drifters’ songs, co-writing the hit “There Goes My Baby” in 1959, but left in
1960 when he failed to get a pay raise and a decent share of royalties.
Nelson then remarketed himself as Ben E. King and embarked on a
successful solo career. His first hit was a song based on the area in which he
grew up. Strictly speaking, Leiber’s lyrics aren’t quite up to his usual standard—
it’s not possible to “pick that rose and watch her as she grows in my garden”—
but such carping is churlish given the charm of the piece and the sparkling
arrangement. The song packs a lot into under three minutes. The opening
marimba triplets, delightfully syncopated melody, swathes of echo, and warm
vocal accompaniment (from vocal trio The Gospelaires, featuring Dionne
Warwick) all combine to produce a real sense of Latinate longing.
“Spanish Harlem” was a success but not a massive hit, peaking at No. 15 in
Billboard’s R&B chart and No. 10 in its pop chart. Subsequently, however, it
has become a popular standard, with Aretha Franklin producing perhaps the
most transcendent of the numerous cover versions. SA See all songs from the
1960s
1960s
The arc of Dinah Washington’s career may not have been smooth, but it was
gentler than the bumpy ride she endured away from the stage. Born Ruth Jones
in 1924, she joined Lionel Hampton’s band in her teens as a raw blues belter, but
gradually left her roots in favor of ballads and torch songs. At the close of the
Fifties, she found mainstream fame through slick recordings such as “What a
Diff’rence a Day Makes” and some flimsy duets with Brook Benton. Jazz
diehards, who had previously called her one of their own, were appalled.
Washington didn’t seem to care. And it is from this controversial but
commercially lucrative period that her 1961 reading of “Mad About the Boy”
emerged.
Written by Noël Coward for his 1932 revue Words and Music, “Mad About
the Boy” had first been recorded by Washington back in 1952, in a
comparatively low-key and jazzy arrangement. Nine years later, though, rough
edges and jazz inflections were largely absent from her second attempt. Quincy
Jones’s arrangement is handsome, even stately, and Billy Byers’s trombone intro
and coda linger in the memory. But the recording would be nothing without
Washington, her faintly caustic vocal providing necessary counterbalance to an
otherwise sweet setting.
Washington died just two years after recording “Mad About the Boy,”
accidentally overdosing on sleeping pills. She was thirty-nine. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Lazy River
Bobby Darin (1961)
Bobby Darin was at the peak of his career at the beginning of the Sixties, having
had a string of hits starting with the self-penned “Splish Splash” and “Dream
Lover,” followed by his big-band takes on the jazz standard “Mack the Knife”
and “Beyond the Sea” (an Anglicized take on Charles Trenet’s “La mer”). He
was a hugely popular live act, regularly headlining at Las Vegas clubs and
drawing sellout crowds at the Copacabana club in New York.
Darin’s record label, Atco, was keen for him to make a shift in his style,
hoping to cash in on the continuing rise of rock ‘n’ roll. In the end, though,
Darin took the advice of his friend and publicist, Harriet “Hesh” Wasser, to carry
on doing what he did best: jazz-pop numbers in a swing style.
The choice of “Lazy River” in 1961 seemed a surprising one. Written by
Hoagy Carmichael in 1932 and performed by him in the laid-back manner the
title suggests, it appeared unlikely material for Darin’s full-on performing style.
Previous covers had retained the feel of the Carmichael original, though in 1956
a version by Roberta Sherwood injected some pace and New Orleans jazz into
the standard midway through. But with a powerful, fully orchestrated
arrangement by Richard Wess, Darin transformed it into an upbeat number that
truly swung, reaching the U.S. Top Twenty and confirming his status as one of
the great swing singers. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Willie Dixon was behind much of the best blues music made in post-World War
II Chicago. Muddy Waters, Little Walter, and Howlin’ Wolf received more
attention, but they all did so with help from Dixon, who wrote, produced, and/or
played on many of those bluesmen’s top cuts.
None of those titans benefited more from their association with Dixon than
Wolf. Having scored a hit with his 1954 recording of Dixon’s “Evil,” Wolf spent
the first half of the Sixties focused almost exclusively on the Dixon songbook.
The result was one of the most impressive runs in blues history, producing such
classic cuts as “Spoonful,” “The Red Rooster” (aka “Little Red Rooster”), and
“Back Door Man.” The latter was a perfect fit for Wolf—a midnight ramble of a
song with boastful lyrics that were both scary and sexual. Wolf inhabited the
song’s character in a way that should have made all the husbands on his block
nervous. He was utterly believable in the role of Casanova/predator, growling
out such menacing lines as “When everybody’s tryin’ to sleep / I’m somewhere
making my midnight creep.” Musical accompaniment was a slow grind, turned
out in after-hours style by Wolf’s regular studio band.
The song was released as the B-side to “Wang Dang Doodle.” Later
collected on various albums, it became a blues standard. Its best-known cover is
on The Doors’ 1967 eponymous debut. JiH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“The Red Rooster”—it acquired the diminutive “Little” in later cover versions—
is credited to composer and bass player Willie Dixon. Yet Wolf recalled hearing
it sung years before by blues guitarist Charley Patton, and the Dixon song does
indeed show great similarities to a Patton song from 1929. Other blues singers
then took up the evocative imagery of a lost rooster, notably Memphis Minnie,
who recorded “If You See My Rooster (Please Run Him Home)” in 1936.
Wolf’s version features the composer on bass along with guitar, piano, and
drums, but it is Wolf’s lead slide guitar that steals the show. At a funereally slow
pace, Wolf tells the tale of owning “a little red rooster, too lazy to crow for day.”
But once the rooster is on the prowl, “dogs begin to bark, and the hound begin to
howl,” and the narrator pleads for someone to drag the rooster home. The
metaphor of the erring husband is clear, made all the more obvious in the cover
version by The Rolling Stones, in which the singer clearly identifies himself as
being said (red) rooster.
Issued as a single in 1961, the track featured on Wolf’s eponymous second
album, released in 1962. Soul singer Sam Cooke hit the R&B and pop charts
with the song in 1963, and it was the mixture of Cooke’s more soulful treatment
and the purer blues approach of Wolf that made The Rolling Stones’ 1964 cover
version so successful. SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Johnny Remember Me
John Leyton (1961)
Writer | Geoff Goddard Producer | Joe Meek Label | Top Rank International
Album | N/A
So-called “death discs” enjoyed a brief vogue in the pre-Beatles era, as tales of
teenage melodrama escalated into doomed Romeo and Juliet affairs. Perhaps the
finest example of the genre was recorded in the unlikely setting of an apartment
on London’s Holloway Road. Wires trailed between the various rooms, with the
TV actor John Leyton singing in the sitting room, the backing vocalists in the
bathroom, the string section camped out on the stairs, and Joe Meek at his
mixing desk in the kitchen, heavily compressing the output to create his
signature coruscating, trebly sound. The result was a bottled hurricane, with
Billy Kuy strumming his guitar in a relentless flamenco while drummer Bobby
Graham and bassist Chas Hodges (latterly of “rockney” duo Chas & Dave) laid
down a galloping beat straight out of Vaughn Monroe’s country hit “Riders in
the Sky” (1949).
Songwriter Geoff Goddard avoided specifying that “the girl I loved and lost
a year ago” was actually dead, although Lissa Gray’s ethereal vocals left little
room for ambiguity. But the connections with the spirit world ran deeper than a
few eerie sound effects: Goddard informed journal Psychic News in September
1961 that the song had been dictated to him in a dream by the ghost of Buddy
Holly; and in a follow-up séance, the bespectacled hitmaker popped up again to
tell Goddard that it was a surefire No. 1. And so it proved. SP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
I Fall to Pieces
Patsy Cline (1961)
She wasn’t the first female singer to crack the country world; Patsy Montana and
Kitty Wells, among others, both got there before her. Yet Patsy Cline pretty
much wrote the book on country-music ballad singing, and the lessons she set
out in it have since been read, absorbed, and put into practice by everyone from
George Jones to Trisha Yearwood. While Montana brought a homespun sound to
her records, and Wells sang with a twang that matched any delivered by her
guitarists, Cline’s fluid style combined country’s yen for a good story with a pop
singer’s sense of drama.
She was helped by Owen Bradley, the head of Decca’s Nashville operation
when Cline signed to the label, in 1960. Cline had enjoyed her first hit in 1957
with “Walkin’ After Midnight,” but none of her subsequent singles had followed
it into the charts. A change in labels brought a change in fortunes. The duo’s first
collaboration, “I Fall to Pieces” hit No. 1 on the country charts, also crossing
over to reach No. 12 in the Billboard Hot 100.
When Cline followed “I Fall to Pieces” with “Crazy,” one of the first hits
written by Willie Nelson, her fame was assured. However, the singer’s
promising career ended abruptly in 1963 at the age of thirty, when the plane on
which she was traveling with singers Cowboy Copas and Hawkshaw Hawkins
crashed. The pilot was Randy Hughes, Cline’s manager. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Stand by Me
Ben E. King (1961)
Writer | Ben E. King, “Elmo Glick” (Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller)
Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller
Label | Atco
Album | Don’t Play That Song! (1962)
Blue Moon
The Marcels (1961)
Writer | Richard Rodgers, Lorenz Hart Producer | Stu Phillips Label | Colpix
Album | Blue Moon (1961)
The overwhelming glut of vocal groups milling around the American pop
margins in the late Fifties meant that it often took a stroke of luck for the best
ones to get heard. The Marcels, though, got their break the old-fashioned way. In
1960, the Pittsburgh quintet (named, incidentally, after a hairstyle) sent some
demos to Colpix Records, a subsidiary of Columbia Pictures. Label founder Stu
Phillips liked what he heard and invited the group—comprising three black and
two white singers—to New York for a session.
What actually happened in the studio remains a matter for debate. Some
reports suggest the group wanted to cover The Collegians’ single “Zoom Zoom
Zoom” of 1958; Phillips disliked the song but liked the bomp-baba-bomp bass
riff, and got the singers to marry it to the much-loved Rodgers and Hart standard
“Blue Moon.” Other accounts reckon that the bass line came not from the group
but from Phillips himself. At any rate, The Marcels cut two takes of “Blue
Moon” as the session drew to a close. The second, which bore more than a
passing resemblance to “Zoom Zoom Zoom,” got the thumbs-up.
The tape found its way via a Colpix promo man to renowned New York DJ
Murray the K, who pretty much wore it out; within weeks, this daffy, dynamic
piece of doo-wop fluff had topped the Billboard Hot 100. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Crazy
Patsy Cline (1961)
“Crazy” is one of pop’s most common song titles, with more than twenty
transatlantic chart hits to its name. Most enduring of these is Patsy Cline’s
country ballad, which she recorded in one take supported by Elvis Presley’s
vocal troupe.
When Texas-born musician Willie Nelson decamped to Nashville in the
early Sixties, he began a double life as a performer and songwriter, forging
himself a reputation as a respected country-music icon along the way. Nelson
provided Cline with her most successful recording when he penned a country
classic that was perfect for the sad, soulful, deep vocal pitch of the country star.
Cline’s gritty determination to get to grips with the song she at first hated was
compounded by her lingering injuries, sustained in a near-fatal car accident two
months before the recording sessions. The song wowed country fans, who gave
her three standing ovations as she sang it—on crutches—at the Grand Ole Opry.
Cline’s distinctive vocal is not the only reason the song is so well
remembered. Less than two years after her recording of “Crazy,” she was
involved in yet another accident, when she was a passenger aboard a small
aircraft flying en route to Nashville which crashed in rural Tennessee. This time,
she failed to survive. The haunting, plaintive “Crazy” has become her signature
song down the decades. DR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Françoise Hardy was born to a single mother in Paris in 1944. Having received a
guitar for her sixteenth birthday, she began playing both French and U.S. folk
and pop songs. In 1961, she answered a newspaper advertisement looking for
young singers. With her striking features, breathy voice, and introspective songs,
she swiftly won a record deal. Her first 45, in June 1962, found the A-side, “Oh
oh chéri,” paired with Hardy’s own “Tous les garçons et les filles,” with a simple
waltz rhythm placed beneath her casual yet intense vocal.
“Oh oh chéri” was not a success, and, when given the opportunity to perform
on French TV in 1962, Hardy sang “Tous les garçons et les filles” instead. It
promptly became a huge French hit, eventually selling more than 700,000
copies. The song finds the narrator musing on all the happy couples she sees
around her while she herself remains alone, having never experienced love.
Hardy later recorded the song in English as “Find Me a Boy.”
Françoise Hardy went on to become one of France’s most popular—and
critically acclaimed—singer-songwriters. Her original songs displayed both
emotional subtlety and a sonic resonance that makes them compelling even if the
listener doesn’t speak French. Both Bob Dylan and Blur have championed Hardy
(the latter recording with her in 1994), while “Tous les garçons et les filles”
remains a classic of Sixties French pop. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Signing to the fledgling Tamla label in 1959, The Miracles were integral to
establishing the early Motown sound, scoring the label’s first million-seller with
1960’s “Shop Around.” The intense ballad “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me”
was written by The Miracles’ leader, William “Smokey” Robinson, in a New
York hotel room after hearing Sam Cooke’s “Bring It on Home to Me.”
Robinson wanted to pen something similar, aping the tight vocal harmony
from Cooke and fellow soul singer Lou Rawls. Stylistically, the song also
exhibits the influence of doo-wop vocal acts such as The Moonglows. Its
arrangement is simple, with Smokey’s falsetto combining with a tenor vocal
from bandmate Bobby Rogers and infectious guitar lines provided by Marv
Tarplin and Funk Brother sessioneer Eddie Willis. The song’s enduring appeal
comes from Robinson’s ingenious lyric, concerning a man madly in love with a
woman who treats him badly, the song’s opening line—“I don’t like you but I
love you”—neatly grabbing listeners at once and placing them in the confused
mind-set of the lovelorn loser.
The Beatles covered the song on their U.K. chart-topping second album,
With The Beatles, John Lennon singing lead and George Harrison providing the
harmony. The Zombies and The Small Faces also recorded versions, as did
Motown’s The Supremes and The Temptations. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Boom Boom
John Lee Hooker (1962)
Perhaps better known from the cover version recorded by British R&B group
The Animals in 1964, “Boom Boom” was originally recorded in Chicago in late
1961. Electric guitarist John Lee Hooker is supported on the track by a sextet
packed with future Motown luminaries. Bassist James Jamerson was to go on to
become renowned at Motown as the “father of modern bass guitar” with the
label’s in-house studio band, The Funk Brothers, alongside drummer Benny
Benjamin. Two saxophonists, a pianist, and a second guitarist make up the
sextet.
Hooker starts by picking out the song’s signature riff, repeated by a light-
touch piano with bass and drums, before launching into the vocals. Each
suggestive vocal phrase is echoed by an instrumental response that slowly but
surely builds up momentum before Hooker lets rip. The band then lays down a
thundering beat behind his lead guitar that drives all before it until the vocals
return. This time, Hooker growls out the words, his gruff, suggestive voice
making it more than clear that, having taken his woman home and put her in his
house, after she’s walked that walk and talked that talk, it is: “Boom Boom
Boom Boom.”
Indeed. Hooker was virtually illiterate, yet his words here speak about sex
with concise eloquence. This is two minutes, thirty-one seconds of raw,
stomping R&B porn. Bliss. SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
He’s a Rebel
The Crystals (1962)
Do You Love Me
The Contours (1962)
It’s almost too perfect: when Berry Gordy told The Contours that they had been
chosen to record his song “Do You Love Me” for Gordy Records, the group was
so delighted they leapt on the notoriously steely Motown boss for a hug.
Back in 1962, “Do You Love Me” would have been performed by The
Temptations, if only Gordy had been able to find them at the Hitsville USA
studio. The Tempts were playing the Detroit gospel-music showcase, but to
Gordy’s mind, they’d gone AWOL—so when he bumped into The Contours in
the hallway, he decided to give the song to them. And, of course, it’s now
difficult to imagine the song sounding any other way. Can you hear anyone but
Billy Gordon screeching the song’s impassioned refrain (or any other backing
singers instructing dancers to do the twist)?
The song sold over a million copies on its initial release and made No. 3 in
the Billboard Hot 100 chart. Within a couple of years, it became a standard
cover for British Invasion groups (The Hollies, The Dave Clark Five) as well as
U.S. protopunks such as The Sonics; twenty years later, the song was
championed by Bruce Springsteen.
“Do You Love Me” would reach its biggest audience in the Eighties, via the
movie Dirty Dancing. The Contours joined Ronnie Spector on a Dirty Dancing
tour and, to this day, still play (brilliantly) live. Hugs all round. SH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Although Ray Charles had cut a country song back in 1959, Hank Snow’s “I’m
Movin’ On,” the 1962 release of Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music
—a dozen lily-white country songs translated by Charles and producer Sid Feller
into the all-black soul idiom—came as a jolt to a music industry unused to
genre-hopping. The album surged to the top of the U.S. charts, catapulting
Charles into the mainstream; its success was such that it spawned a sequel, no
less impressive, on which is featured “Your Cheating Heart.”
Charles cut two Hank Williams songs on the original Modern Sounds set—a
jaunty “Hey, Good Lookin’” and a strung-out reading of “You Win Again”—but
both were topped by Volume Two’s take on “Your Cheatin’ Heart” (Charles’s
version restores the missing g). Scored by jobbing Hollywood arranger Marty
Paich, the weeping-willow strings and cornball backing vocals occasionally
threaten to sink the ship; across both Modern Sounds records, it is the songs set
to brass arrangements by Gerald Wilson that come out on top. But here,
Charles’s jazz-inflected piano and perfectly pitched vocal delivery save the day.
For that matter, it is Charles’s dynamic, committed, and often raw, vocals
that elevate all his country-tinged output above the status of mere curios. The
key? “I’m not singing it country-western,” he put it. “I’m singing it like me.”
WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Cry Baby
Garnet Mimms & The Enchanters (1963)
Writer | Bert Russell (aka Bert Berns), Norman Meade (aka Jerry Ragovoy)
Producer | Jerry Ragovoy
Label | United Artists
Album | Cry Baby and 11 Other Hits (1963)
Raised in a religious household, the teenage Garnet Mimms found his voice as a
gospel singer. He formed doo-wop group The Gainors with Howard Tate in
1958, then pushed his talent to the edge with a string of mostly modest hits in the
Sixties, before becoming a pastor in the Seventies. Of course, part of what makes
“Cry Baby” such a shiver-inducing listen is that it is sung with the kind of fervor
that normally rattles church roofs: Mimms’s voice moves from a silky, calm
baritone to a hands-in-the-air falsetto.
The killer twist is that “Cry Baby” is really a bedroom song, pure yearning
distilled into four minutes. Our hero loves a girl who’s in love with another guy
—and a no-good guy at that. So when he breaks her heart, which he will, guess
who’ll be around to catch the tears?
“Cry Baby” comes to the boil like rolling coffee; it opens with a gently
puttering 6/8 beat and a chorus of sweetly cooing girl singers (the troupe would
later include Dionne Warwick and Doris Troy), gathering momentum until
Mimms’s heart all but explodes. The song simmers back down, and Mimms
delivers a head-held-high soliloquy (“I’ll always love you, darlin’ / And I can
see that you got some more tears to shed”), which builds and builds until the
next chorus. An exquisite, almost unbearable listen, it was a huge hit (Billboard
pop No. 4; R&B No. 1) in 1963. SH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
La javanaise
Juliette Gréco (1963)
Harlem Shuffle
Bob & Earl (1963)
Writer | Bobby Relf, Earl Nelson Producer | Fred Smith Label | Marc Album |
N/A
On Broadway
The Drifters (1963)
Writer | Barry Mann, Cynthia Weil Producer | Jerry Leiber, Mike Stoller Label
| Atlantic Album | N/A
Louie Louie
The Kingsmen (1963)
In Dreams
Roy Orbison (1963)
“That was literally a dream song that I dreamt. That sounds like
something I would dream up!”
Roy Orbison, 1988
Writer | Zell Sanders, Lona Stevens Producer | Abner Spector Label | Tuff
Album | Sally Go ’Round the Roses (1963)
The Jaynetts came together in the late Fifties. Initially, membership was fluid. In
1963, the Bronx-based group constituted Mary Sue Wells, Ethel Davis, and
Yvonne Bushell. Zell Sanders, who comprised the entire staff of J&S Record
Company, was friendly with the girls. Abner Spector, of Chicago’s Tuff
Records, came to town looking for a girl group, and Sanders proffered The
Jaynetts, along with her song “Sally Go ’Round the Roses.”
The track was an odd mix of nursery rhyme and beguiling warning. Spector
(no relation to Phil) hired pianist Artie Butler to arrange and play most of the
instruments on the session. The seemingly nonsensical lyrics—friends warn the
heartbroken Sally against going downtown and obliquely advise, “roses they
can’t hurt you”—provoked many theories, with some even arguing that the song
concerned a young woman’s struggle with her sexuality. Not that this matters—
with its slinky beat, turbulent piano, fairground organ, and muted vocals, “Sally
Go ’Round The Roses” stands as a pop original, beautifully eerie and
compelling.
Deservedly, the single reached No. 2 in the U.S. charts, though The Jaynetts
never had a comparable success. Artie Butler did, however: he went on to
arrange The Shangri-Las’ hits. Andy Warhol reportedly called “Sally” “the
greatest pop record ever made,” and played the 45 repeatedly as he painted his
own beautifully eerie pop art. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Be My Baby
The Ronettes (1963)
“I was in my car with my girlfriend,” Beach Boy Brian Wilson recalled in 1996.
“All of a sudden, this disc jockey, Wink Martindale, goes, ‘Alright, here we go
with “Be My Baby” by The Ronettes.’ Whoa, whoa! I pulled over to the kerb
and I really did flip out. . . . It wasn’t really getting your mind blown, it was
more like getting your mind revamped.” Wilson’s epiphany was triggered by
159 seconds of perfection. It opens with Hal Blaine’s iconic—and much-
imitated—drums, but blossoms into a castanet-clicking, string-swirling
sensation. Atop it all soars Brooklyn belle Ronnie Spector, muse of the track’s
revered producer.
The song was written at Phil Spector’s New York penthouse. “I was there,”
Ronnie told Rolling Stone, “but Phil didn’t want anybody to know. . . . I put my
ear to the wall, and I’m hearing them discuss me: ‘She’s so innocent, she’s from
Spanish Harlem . . .’ It was so special and great because I knew they were
writing for me.” Ronnie had already recorded “Why Won’t They Let Us Fall in
Love” for Spector, but he opted to make “Be My Baby” The Ronettes’ debut.
The spectacular single—a transatlantic smash—remains Ronnie’s signature tune.
Back in 1963, Brian Wilson was so impressed that he wrote a follow-up—
which Phil Spector rejected in favor of “Baby I Love You.” Wilson’s subsequent
quest to make equally majestic records just adds to the song’s lavish legacy. BM
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Surfin’ Bird
The Trashmen (1963)
Minnesota group The Trashmen inadvertently created “Surfin’ Bird” when, live
onstage, they combined two popular R&B/doo-wop tracks—“The Bird Is the
Word” and “Papa-Oom-Mow-Mow”—by West Coast band The Rivingtons. Bill
Diehl, a local radio DJ, was at the performance and persuaded the band to record
the track as a single. The two songs, reduced to little more than their respective
titles, are repeated in a deranged vocal style that gives “Surfin’ Bird” its
frenzied, energetic tone. Also influential was the double-time urgency of premier
surf band The Ventures’ “Pipeline” and The Castaways’ surf hit “Liar, Liar.”
The recording found them winners of a regional Battle of the Bands contest
in Chicago that brought them to the attention of Garrett Records. The label
released the track to immediate success, with a No. 4 placing in the Billboard
Hot 100. Over two decades later, “Surfin’ Bird” featured in the soundtrack of
Stanley Kubrick’s 1987 film Full Metal Jacket, where it evoked the adrenaline-
rush and violent chaos of combat in the Vietnam War.
To capitalize on the success of “Surfin’ Bird,” The Trashmen recorded a
follow-up in “Bird Dance Beat,” following the trend for related dance tracks, but
this failed to emulate the impact of their debut. The band, though, have
influenced scores of groups, such as The Cramps, Ramones, and The Jesus and
Mary Chain. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sapore di sale
Gino Paoli (1963)
Like the bad boy “from the wrong side of town” who wrecks his bike in the final
verse, “Leader of the Pack” is shrouded in the fog of rock lore. In need of a
follow-up to his and The Shangri-Las’ first hit, “Remember (Walking in the
Sand)” of 1964, producer George “Shadow” Morton allegedly found his
inspiration when he ran into some leather-bound, gum-snapping chicks at a
diner. His tragic tale of a lovelorn bobbysoxer who dumps her sensitive biker
dude on her father’s orders, hastening his death, was like Shakespeare, except
these two meet in a candy store.
Morton wanted a local girl group called The Goodies to sing it. He has said
that songwriting titans and label honchos Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller initially
rejected his song on account of its illicit teenage love affair and ultimate
catastrophe. So he scooped up the budding Shangri-Las, snuck them into New
York’s Ultrasonic Studios, and cut the song on the sly. However, various Red
Bird associates, including the legendary Ellie Greenwich, who is credited as a
songwriter on “Leader,” have disputed many or all of these details—not to
mention the story that a real motorcycle was driven through a building to capture
the song’s iconic revving sounds. Whatever the case, “Leader of the Pack” shot
to No. 1 on the back of its pulsing bass lines, conversational style, and Mary
Weiss’s mournful lead vocal. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Samba malato
Nicomedes Santa Cruz (1964)
Walk On By
Dionne Warwick (1964)
The Sixties were a golden decade for Dionne Warwick and songwriters Burt
Bacharach and Hal David. In ten years they had nineteen U.S. Top Forty
records, with eight in the Top Ten. One of the most enduring of those hits is
“Walk On By.”
It almost didn’t turn out that way. Originally “Walk On By” was released as
the B-side to “Any Old Time of Day,” a song that her label, manager, and
Warwick herself believed would secure her a hit after a run of misses. But
influential New York DJ Murray “the K” Kaufman felt that the B-side was the
more likely hit and refused to play “Any Old Time of Day,” plugging “Walk On
By” instead.
His insistence paid off, with listeners buying “Walk On By” in their droves,
making it a huge hit in the United States, while it also made the U.K. Top Ten.
Since then, it has been covered by more than forty different artists, from Pucho
& His Latin Soul Brothers to Cyndi Lauper.
The song was recorded in a three-hour studio session that also saw “Anyone
Who Had a Heart”—which became Warwick’s first U.S. Top Ten hit—
committed to tape. Bacharach said: “‘Walk On By’ was the first time I tried
putting two grand pianos on a record in the studio. . . . I knew the song had
something.” And Dionne Warwick’s accomplished delivery hit all the right
emotional notes; as she said, “I didn’t get the guy very often in those days.” DC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Don Thomas, Jean Thomas, Barry Richards Producer | Mike Smith
Label | Decca
Album | N/A
E se domani
Mina (1964)
Writer | Giorgio Calabrese, Carlo Alberto Rossi Producer | Carlo Alberto Rossi
Label | Ri-Fi
Album | Mina (1964)
First presented to the public during the Sanremo Music Festival in 1964, sung by
Fausto Cigliano and Gene Pitney, “E se domani” (And If Tomorrow) did not
even reach the final. One of the song’s authors, Carlo Alberto Rossi, then
worked hard to convince Mina to sing it and to include it on her forthcoming
album. Her first with Ri-Fi, it was entitled Mina, and, apart from “E se domani”
and “Non illuderti,” included only covers of American and Brazilian songs. “E
se domani” turned out to be not only one of the best songs on the album but one
of the top songs of Mina’s career. Mina was voted by critics to be best album of
1964, and the singer won the Oscar del disco prize in the same year.
The lyrics of “E se domani” are brief and simple, and are still very well
known in Italy today. A lover tries to paint a mental picture of what would
happen if she couldn’t see her loved one anymore: she would lose not only the
man she loves but her whole world—“E se domani e sottolineo se all’improvviso
perdessi te avrei perduto il mondo intero non solo te.”
Unusually, and because of the great success that “E se domani” was
enjoying, the song was recorded as the B-side of two different singles: “Un anno
d’amore” in1964 and “Brava” in 1965. The former secured Mina’s personal
record in the hit parade, remaining at No. 1 in Italy for sixteen consecutive
weeks. LSc See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The Brazilian music known as bossa nova—Portuguese for “new wave” or “new
trend”—is rare in that it is largely the invention of one person: Antônio Carlos
Jobim. Developed in Rio de Janeiro, bossa nova evolved from samba but was
less percussive and harmonically more complex.
U.S. jazz musicians heading south for the sun appreciated its lilting rhythms
and cool demeanor. One such, guitarist Charlie Byrd, introduced saxophonist
Stan Getz to the music. In 1962, Byrd and Getz recorded an entire album of
Brazilian music—Jazz Samba—that stayed on the Billboard charts for seventy
weeks and gave birth to a single hit, Jobim’s “Desafinado” (Out of Tune).
A year later, Getz repeated the trick, this time in partnership with the
Brazilian guitarist João Gilberto, with Jobim on piano. On two tracks, Getz
wanted the original Portuguese lyrics to be translated and sung in English; he
asked Gilberto’s wife, Astrud, to perform them. She was not a professional
singer and had a tendency to sing flat, but she stepped up to the microphone. Her
deadpan English, indeed sung slightly flat, was a perfect response to Getz’s
peerless saxophone.
The song made Astrud’s reputation and confirmed Getz as the epitome of
cool. Of this classic piece of bossa, the man known as “The Sound” remarked
that he soon “got bored with it, but it paid for my kids to go through college.”
SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sam Cooke first found success in the early Fifties, both with gospel group The
Soul Stirrers and as a solo singer; “You Send Me” was a U.S. No. 1 in 1957,
selling two million copies. He sang, wrote, and co-produced a series of hits
including “Wonderful World” (1959), “Chain Gang” (1960), and “Cupid”
(1961), and founded his own label, SAR Records.
But arguably Cooke’s greatest accomplishment was “A Change Is Gonna
Come,” a song he claimed came to him in a dream. Cooke’s biographer Peter
Guralnick traces the inspirations for the song to three events: Cooke talking with
student sit-in demonstrators in Durham, North Carolina, after playing a show in
May 1963; his hearing Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind” and feeling that, if a
white man was writing something with such a significant message, he should be,
too; and the singer’s arrest after he attempted to register at a segregated (whites
only) Shreveport, Louisiana, Holiday Inn in October 1963. Furthermore, in the
same year, Martin Luther King Jr. led the civil rights March on Washington for
Jobs and Freedom and gave his famous “I Have a Dream” speech.
On December 21, 1963, at RCA Studios, Los Angeles, Cooke recorded this
melancholy civil rights sermon. Singing with a depth of emotion rarely heard
outside of the church, he cries: “It’s been a long, a long time coming But I know
a change gonna come Oh yes it will.” JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“Can’t forget the Motor City,” pleads Martha Reeves midway through “Dancing
in the Street.” As if anyone would. At the time of the record’s release, Detroit
label Motown was entering its creative and commercial peak. But the city was
also in the spotlight during a period when relations between black and white
communities across the nation were at their most volatile.
Although Motown’s mainstream success helped bridge the cultural gap
between white and black America, the gulf was still vast when, in July 1964,
Lyndon B. Johnson signed into law the landmark Civil Rights Act, with the aim
of eliminating U.S. racial discrimination. Within weeks, as if to show how tough
a task this would be, riots broke out in Harlem and the town of Rochester, New
York, both triggered by apparent brutality toward local African Americans by
white police officers.
Released in the very same month, “Dancing in the Street” sounds like a
veiled attempt to address these issues and inspire the black community to action,
although Reeves has always held that it was not a call to arms but an invitation
to party. Whatever its message, the single still thrills, from that blaring horn
fanfare to Reeves’s euphoric declaration that “all we need is music.” Nearly fifty
years after its release, no single better embodies Motown’s electrifying aesthetic.
“Are you ready for a brand-new beat?” asked Reeves. We were. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Burt Bacharach, Hal David Producer | Johnny Franz Label | Philips
Album | A Girl Called Dusty (1964)
Although it had previously been recorded by Tommy Hunt for his album of the
same name two years earlier, it was Dusty Springfield who made “I Just Don’t
Know What to Do with Myself” her own.
The track—very much in the torch-song genre, at which Springfield was to
excel—marked the first venture in what was to become a hugely successful
relationship with the work of Burt Bacharach, who wrote many more hits for
her, including “Wishin’ and Hopin’” and “The Look of Love.” It also gave
listeners a glimpse of the emotional range of her soulful voice, a blend of
breathy sensuality and raw passion and feeling that often led listeners to assume
she was a black, American vocalist.
Springfield’s effortless ability to encompass pop, ballads, country, soul, and
more brought comparisons with Elvis, another white performer breaking down
barriers, both in performance and society. In the United Kingdom, especially,
she led the way for white singers to perform “black” material, opening doors for
the likes of Lulu, Sandie Shaw, and Cilla Black, all of whom went on to record
soul material. The song has also been recorded by a host of soul artists, including
Isaac Hayes and Dionne Warwick. In 2003, The White Stripes famously released
a version that recontextualized the song as a punk-rock ballad, with an
accompanying video directed by Sofia Coppola and starring model Kate Moss.
CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Influenced by: Baby I Need Your Loving • The Four Tops (1964)
Influence on: The Sun Ain’t Gonna Shine Anymore • The Walker
Brothers (1965)
Covered by: Isaac Hayes (1970) • Tom Jones (1970) • Erasure (2003)
The acme of blue-eyed soul, Bill Medley and Bobby Hatfield’s finest four
minutes was also Phil Spector’s last as alpha male in American pop. His next
teen symphony, Ike and Tina Turner’s “River Deep, Mountain High,” flopped in
the United States and “the tycoon of teen” retired.
Determined to better anything he or any other producer had ever created, and
inspired by the fact that The Beatles and Motown were demonstrating new ways
to use the recording studio, Spector licensed The Righteous Brothers from the
small Moonglow label after seeing them support The Ronettes. He then
instructed the husband-and-wife writing team of Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil
to come up with something for them.
Famously, the label stated that the song was five seconds over three minutes,
shaving forty-five seconds from the truth, to fool radio stations reluctant to play
lengthy songs. However, first-time listeners are more shocked by the opening
seconds, when Medley’s deep voice seems to slow as it drags its way through
“You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips.” When Mann heard
it, he complained that the song must be playing at 33 rpm.
After that, the song provides hook after hook, introducing a “wall of sound”
that arrives, along with Hatfield’s harmony, for the first chorus, then disappears
for the second verse. From the third verse, when the soaring baritone is on his
knees and the tenor is reminding his lover what she used to do, the listener is
sucked into the crescendo.
With more than eight million spins, this is the most-played song in the
history of American radio. And even if you heard every one, you would never
get bored with it. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“‘You Really Got Me’ was the ultimate sort of blues riff. I didn’t know
I was doing it.”
Ray Davies, 1984
When R&B beat group The Kinks, from Muswell Hill, north London, entered
IBC Studios in Portland Place in July 1964 to record their third single, “You
Really Got Me,” they were under pressure for a hit after their two previous
releases had failed to sell. Both their debut cover of Little Richard’s “Long Tall
Sally” and singer/rhythm-guitarist Ray Davies’s own “You Still Want Me” were
competent Merseybeat, but there was little to suggest that here was a band that
would revolutionize popular music. Yet that is exactly what happened with “You
Really Got Me,” after an initial slower version was scrapped at the band’s
instigation because it lacked grit. The re-recorded song’s power-chord, fuzz-
guitar riff laid the foundations for heavy rock and the career of The Who, with
Pete Townshend openly admitting the song’s influence on The Who’s inaugural
hit, “I Can’t Explain,” while Ray’s lyrical directness and the record’s aggressive,
driving sound projected a proto-punk attitude.
In the studio, producer Shel Talmy replaced The Kinks’ drummer, Mick
Avory, with session man Bobby Graham, but, contrary to rumor, it is not Jimmy
Page but lead guitarist and Ray’s brother, Dave Davies, who plays the riff and
primitive “rave up” solo. Dave achieved the sound he wanted from his Epiphone
on the track by slicing the speaker cone of his small 4-watt amplifier with a razor
blade, patching it with Sellotape, putting pins in it, turning it on full volume, and
then feeding the sound through a 30-watt amp on low volume, resulting in the
desired distortion.
Released on August 3, “You Really Got Me” turned out to be The Kinks’
breakthrough hit, topping the U.K. chart and giving the group a U.S. No. 7
placing. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Pop svengali Mickie Most had the casting vote when it came to selecting the
recording that would be the follow-up to The Animals’ debut hit, “Baby Let Me
Take You Home.” The record company was unimpressed with the overlong slow
blues of “The House of the Rising Sun,” but Most’s judgment proved to be
sound, as the single would go on to top the charts on both sides of the Atlantic.
Both of the first two singles produced by The Animals had connections to
Bob Dylan, who had written and recorded “Baby, Let Me Follow You Down”
(aka “Baby Can I Take You Home”) and covered the centuries-old traditional
American folk song “The House of the Rising Sun” on his debut album. But it
was bluesman Josh White’s recording of 1937 that sparked Alan Price’s
keyboard arrangement, and blues-obsessive Eric Burdon’s growling vocals that
made The Animals’ version of the song so striking. This was a reversal of the
“taking coals to Newcastle” adage, one might say, as The Animals—from
Britain’s industrial northeast—were sending back to the United States an ancient
American tale about a New Orleans house of ill repute. Yet the song reached the
top of the U.S. charts just two months after hitting No. 1 in The Animals’
homeland.
Perhaps surprisingly, this landmark release—a key element in the British pop
invasion of America—required no painstaking or lengthy recording sessions.
“The House of the Rising Sun” was recorded in a London studio early one
Sunday morning in just two takes. So quickly did the group nail the track that
producer Mickie Most hurriedly squeezed an entire album of recordings out of
the remaining session time. He noted: “We completed an album for £24, which
was a good deal.” DR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The city of Louisville has a reputation for producing dark, brooding music.
Today, its stars include Will Oldham and Slint, but arguably the spookiest
sounds to emerge from Louisville came from the Forties murder balladeer John
Jacob Niles.
Niles appears in Martin Scorsese’s Bob Dylan documentary, No Direction
Home, where crackly, vintage television footage shows a white-haired, spindly
old man singing in a falsetto voice and gesticulating wildly. Sonically and
visually, the term “otherworldly” could have been invented for Niles; his shrill,
clear voice is neither masculine nor feminine, and he sings as if thoroughly
possessed by the song, his black eyes darting about as he strums at an
Appalachian dulcimer.
As Niles later recalled, “In 1908, my father had in his employ a Negro ditch-
digger known as Objerall Jacket. As he dug, he sang, ‘Go ’way from my
window, go ’way from my door.’ Just those words, over and over again, on two
notes. Working beside Jacket all day, I decided that something had to be done.
The results were a four-verse song dedicated to a blue-eyes, blond girl, who
didn’t think much of my efforts. The song lay fallow from 1908 to 1929, when I
arranged it and transposed to a higher key.”
With covers including a version by Marlene Dietrich and its title kicking off
Bob Dylan’s “It Ain’t Me Babe,” “Go ’Way from My Window” is a landmark
twentieth-century folk song. SH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Amsterdam
Jacques Brel (1964)
On October 16, 1964, almost three years to the day after recording his first live
album at the Olympia in Paris, Jacques Brel returned to the scene for two nights
that would also be released as an in-concert LP. “Amsterdam,” the opening
track, was a new song that would never be recorded in a studio, and it became
one of Brel’s most significant songs.
For most of its four verses, the singer is an observer in the dockside bars,
where sailors drink heavily, eat unpalatable pieces of fish, lust over whores who
give their virtue for a piece of gold, and dance to the sound of a rancid
accordion. He paints a distasteful picture of human merriment, acknowledging
silently that most men wish, deep down, for this paradoxically enticing life. In
the last couplet, however, the observer stumbles: “Et ils pissent comme je pleure
Sur les femmes infidèles.” Or, as Scott Walker bravely sang in 1967: “And he
pisses as I cry For an unfaithful love.”
At forty-five years’ remove, with Brel dead more than three decades and a
cult figure outside France, it is difficult to grasp how powerful his performance
was. Fortunately, a 1966 concert recorded for television offers some insight into
the impact of Brel live. The last verse of “Amsterdam” is transformed into a
violent, heaving scream, as dynamic as the shower sequence in Psycho. At the
climax, when Brel turns his back on the spotlight, it is as if he has dropped
through a trapdoor. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
La paloma
Caterina Valente (1965)
“La paloma” (The Dove) is almost certainly the most widely performed and
recorded song ever. According to the avant-garde musician Kalle Laar, who
produced a six-CD compilation of versions from all over the world for the
German label Trikont, there are over 2,000 known recordings.
The version by Italian-born singer Caterina Valente is a lush, easy-listening
period piece. Werner Miller’s orchestra backs Valente’s sultry Spanish vocal
with flourishes of harp, a bold brass section, and suitably generic Latin
percussion. Elvis recorded an English adaptation retitled as “No More” for his
best-selling Blue Hawaii album of 1961, but there are hundreds of instrumental
takes as well, both by well-known and obscure artists.
Wrongly considered “traditional,” “La paloma” was written in the early
1860s by the Basque composer Sebastián de Iradier, after visiting Cuba. He used
the distinctively lurching Cuban habanera rhythm that would soon become a
building block of Argentinean tango. Iradier’s other most famous song, “El
Areglito,” is also a habanera; its melody was stolen by Bizet for the song
“L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” in his opera Carmen.
The earliest known recording of “La paloma” (an instrumental) dates from
between 1883 and 1890 and is kept in Havana’s Museum of Music. The song
has featured in many movies and is the subject of a book and a film devoted
entirely to it. JLu
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sinnerman
Nina Simone (1965)
In the early Sixties, Nina Simone established the gospel standard “Sinnerman” as
a trademark part of her repertoire, using it as a hard-hitting finale to her live
shows in New York. It wasn’t until after her move from Colpix to Philips in
1964, however, that it was released—the live recording made in Greenwich
Village was a glaring omission from the album Nina at the Village Gate (1962).
The move to Philips coincided with Simone’s increasing involvement with
the civil-rights movement. Her first album with the label, Nina Simone in
Concert of 1964, included “Mississippi Goddam” and “Old Jim Crow,” and the
civil-rights message continued into the Pastel Blues album the following year.
The studio recording of “Sinnerman” fit well into this album, alongside covers
of the Bessie Smith classic “Nobody Knows You When You’re Down and Out”
and Billie Holiday’s “Strange Fruit,” providing an upbeat final track (as it had in
her live shows) but maintaining the civil-rights theme with its shouts of
“Power!”
Simone probably knew “Sinnerman” from her childhood, hearing it at church
meetings led by her mother, a Methodist minister. The song is a traditional
spiritual, and appeared in many versions before Simone adopted it, but was made
famous by The Weavers in 1959. The recording on Pastel Blues, more than ten
minutes long, is considered Simone’s definitive version. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Arr. The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem Producer | Tom Wilson
Label | CBS
Album | N/A
Released as the B-side of “The Rising of the Moon,” “The Irish Rover” is one of
the best-loved songs by The Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem. Influenced by
American folk revivalists such as The Kingston Trio and The Weavers, the
group almost single-handedly sparked the Sixties Irish-ballad revival.
Although the song’s roots are disputed, “The Irish Rover” is thought to be a
nineteenth-century sea shanty, and is performed as a rollicking barn dance. In
keeping with the group’s penchant for humor, it is a comical account of a
mythical ship that sets sail from the “Cobh [cove] of Cork” with “a cargo of
bricks / For the grand City Hall of New York” . . . only to be wrecked.
Namesakes of the song include innumerable pubs, restaurants, and boats—even
a Catholic student newspaper and a football club. And in 1963, a Canadian band
called The Irish Rovers was founded by newly arrived immigrants from
Northern Ireland. Incredibly, they’re still touring, so have outlived their icons;
Liam Clancy passed away in December 2009, the last of this group to do so.
“The Irish Rover” was covered in 1987 by The Pogues and The Dubliners,
who were brought together at the suggestion of Dave Robinson (Stiff Records
founder) and producer Eamonn Campbell. The single reached No. 8 in the U.K.
pop charts, and introduced The Dubliners to a whole new generation of fans.
JLu See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Needle of Death
Bert Jansch (1965)
Writer | Bert Jansch Producer | Bill Leader Label | Transatlantic Album | Bert
Jansch (1965)
Like many Sixties Brit-folk albums, Bert Jansch’s debut is crammed with
rewrites of old standards, but nestled among them is this haunting story of
addiction and loss. Initially believed by many listeners to be a drug-related self-
portrait—Jansch certainly looks bedraggled and bohemian on the LP cover
—“Needle of Death” was actually written as an elegy for guitarist David “Buck”
Polly, who overdosed on heroin and cocaine in June 1964.
Later anthems, such as The Heartbreakers’ “Chinese Rocks” and The Velvet
Underground’s “Heroin,” would paint the life of a junkie as an act of counter-
cultural defiance. But Jansch sees Polly’s decision to turn to grains of “pure
white snow Dissolved in blood” as a way of escaping a “troubled young life.”
And, while other opiate-infused songs are often self-focused, detailing the
singer’s own drug battles, Jansch records the impact of Polly’s addiction and
death on those closest to him. Over a gentle fingerpicked melody, Jansch sings,
“How tears have filled the eyes Of friends that you once had walked among.”
The song hit home with another folk legend, Neil Young, who was inspired
to write “Needle and the Damage Done” for 1972’s Harvest album. During an
interview for Jimmy McDonough’s 2002 biography, Shakey, Young also
expressed remorse that he had lifted Jansch’s melody almost note for note for his
1974 song “Ambulance Blues.” TB
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | James Brown Producer | James Brown Label | King Album | N/A
By 1965, James Brown was a man ready to make big changes. Having
established himself as a supreme writer and performer of doo-wop, soul, and
R&B, Brown was striving toward a harder, heavier sound. Due to complicated
recording deals with King and Smash Records, “Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag”
(released as two parts split over both sides of a single) came about as a reworked
version of a previous recording, “Out of Sight.” This led to King’s renegotiating
their recording and publishing deals with Brown, whereby he received increased
royalties and complete creative control.
The song is regarded as the first example of the sound that made Brown the
originator of funk. Whereas “Out of Sight” emphasized the second and fourth
beats of a bar, the new version was built around the “downbeat,” on the first and
third. The trademark horn-rhythm-and-guitar hook provides a rousing backdrop
to a tale of an older man unafraid to make new moves on the dance floor. The
session featured brothers Maceo and Melvin Parker (saxophone and drums,
respectively), who became key contributors to the future James Brown heavy-
funk sound.
As critic Dave Marsh wrote, “The only way ‘Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag’
could be more bone-rattling would be if James Brown himself leaped from your
speakers, grabbed you tight by the shoulders, and danced you around the room.”
CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
La bohème
Charles Aznavour (1965)
California Dreamin’
The Mamas & The Papas (1965)
“I couldn’t believe anything that good had just walked in off the
street.”
Lou Adler, 1966
John Phillips was more than a decade older than most of his mid-Sixties folk-
rock contemporaries, but experience had honed his songwriting and taught him
what might grab the public’s attention. Phillips formed a hippie folk-pop band
around his beautiful young wife, Michelle, the huge-of-voice-and-girth Cass
Elliot, and handsome, golden-throated Denny Doherty, and soon had them
working New York’s Greenwich Village folk scene.
Realizing their contemporaries were finding fame in L.A., the group—named
after a Hell’s Angels slang term for men and women—headed west. Folk-pop
star Barry McGuire introduced them to his producer, Lou Adler, whose initial
remark (upon seeing Michelle) was, “Who’s the blonde?” Initially, and with
reluctance, Adler hired them to sing backing vocals for McGuire, but after
hearing the band’s original songs he immediately signed them.
John had written “California Dreamin’” in New York after Michelle
complained that she hated the cold and missed California (she helped with the
lyrics). Recognizing its potential, Adler hired top session players Glen
Campbell, Hal Blaine, Joe Osborn, and Larry Knechtel to provide backing. Jazz
veteran Bud Shank added wistful flute.
The song celebrated California as a golden paradise, yet its delivery is tense
and tinged with unease. “I’d be safe and warm if I was in L.A.” the honeyed
harmonies chime, but the minor-key melancholy of the piece belies that
sentiment. The song immediately established the group internationally, has been
covered many times, and regularly appears in films and on TV. Yet less than a
decade after the band had formed, Cass Elliot was dead and both John Phillips
and Doherty were drug-addled ruins. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Ticket to Ride
The Beatles (1965)
Beatles records were always hits—and big ones—but the commercial success of
this most commercial of bands (and their subsequent hagiography) makes it easy
to overlook the genuine innovation that underpins their continued appeal.
Exhibit A: “Ticket to Ride.” A transatlantic No. 1, naturally, but only for one
week Stateside. In truth, the song is not natural A-side material. It’s slow paced
(and also longer than any previous Beatles track), the drum part is awkwardly
start-stop, and the opening hangs grimly on to one key for ten whole bars,
including the intro, before shifting. Moreover, the lyrics are resolutely
melancholy.
In short, “Ticket to Ride” represents a shift away from pure pop and into less
charted, more interesting territory. Key influences here include Tamla Motown
(using opening bars as a one-key drone had featured in Motown hits such as
Martha & The Vandellas’ “Dancing in the Street”) and the bright guitar sound of
fellow Merseysiders The Searchers. (George Harrison plays his 12-string
Rickenbacker here for the last time on a Beatles track.) Sonically, the track is
several steps on from previous releases, being clangorous and trebly, and—with
the lop-sided drum part—never seems to settle. The booming drums anticipate
Ringo Starr’s exemplary playing in 1966 on “Tomorrow Never Knows” (both
drum parts were suggested by Paul McCartney) and “Rain.” This, plus the high
bass line and prominent guitars, is perhaps one reason why Lennon later referred
to “Ticket to Ride” as “one of the earliest heavy metal records made.”
Appropriately enough, it was covered two years later by proto-metallists
Vanilla Fudge. By then, though, the seeds planted in “Ticket to Ride” were full-
bloom psychedelia. RD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
With his band The Miracles, the Motown maestro Smokey Robinson had been
hitting the U.S. charts since 1960. He inspired Dylan, The Beatles, and the
Stones and—like those acts—chose 1965 to unleash one of his greatest albums.
Going to a Go-Go, laden with treats such as the title track and “A Fork in the
Road,” opened with this classic.
“The Tracks of My Tears” originated in a melody by guitarist Marvin
Tarplin, co-credited with Robinson and their fellow Miracle, Warren Moore.
Smokey wrote the eloquent lyrics—whose use of “substitute” inspired Pete
Townshend to write The Who’s song of that name. But Smokey’s dramatic
production distinguishes the song from its R&B/ doo-wop lineage, with the
drums and horns adding an urgency more often associated with the output of
Motown’s rival label, Stax.
At the outset of their partnership, Motown’s chief, Berry Gordy, told
Smokey, “Every song should have an idea, tell a story, mean something.” It is a
measure of Robinson’s triumph that even the notoriously hard-to-please Gordy
pronounced the track a masterpiece. Though the song rose to only No. 16 in the
United States, myriad covers—notably by Aretha Franklin in 1969 and Linda
Ronstadt in 1975—testify to the work’s enduring appeal. It also enjoyed a silver-
screen-sponsored resurgence in the Eighties, thanks to its inclusion in The Big
Chill and Platoon. BM
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Los Angeles quintet The Byrds’ debut hit, “Mr. Tambourine Man,” was released
in the United States on April 12, 1965; by June 26, it had reached No. 1 in the
Billboard chart. The song was picked for the band by their manager, Jim
Dickson, after he heard its author, Bob Dylan, sing it at the 1964 Monterey Folk
Festival, and requested a demo from Dylan’s publisher. The meandering tune
that arrived, featuring Dylan and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott on harmony, failed to
impress Dickson’s protégés (still known as The Jet Set until November 1964),
even after Dickson urged them to radically edit the verses and add a beat-group
rhythm. They were finally sold on it when Dylan visited them and, hearing their
version, exclaimed: “Wow, man! You can dance to that!”
Only one Byrd played on the single: Jim (later Roger) McGuinn with his
Rickenbacker 360 12-string guitar; he also sang, in a style he later described as
“halfway between Dylan and Lennon.” Backing on the twenty-two takes
recorded was provided by session musicians The Wrecking Crew, with drummer
Hal Blaine and bassist Larry Knechtel featuring prominently. The ot-her Byrds
were not trusted to play, but Gene Clark and David Crosby added exquisite vocal
harmonies. The single gave Dylan his first international No. 1 as a composer,
encouraging him to go electric, and established The Byrds as folk-rock pioneers.
JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Chicago-based vocal group The Impressions, led by Jerry Butler, had their first
hit in 1958 with Butler’s “For Your Precious Love.” When he departed for a solo
career, Curtis Mayfield took over the lead, and by 1963 their lineup had settled
as a soul trio, Curtis Mayfield’s high tenor accompanied by Fred Cash singing
tenor and Sam Gooden’s bass.
In 1964, Mayfield penned the gospel-infused, civil-rights anthem “Keep on
Pushing,” which reached the U.S. Billboard pop Top Ten. The following year,
they hit Billboard R&B No. 3 and pop No. 14 with “People Get Ready.” A
contemplative, uplifting song, it once more combined Mayfield’s religious
conviction and schooling in gospel music with a subtle message of racial unity
and black empowerment. Utilizing a train motif common to gospel spirituals,
such as The Fisk Jubilee Singers’ “The Gospel Train,” Mayfield sings that “faith
is the key” and of “hope for all.” As Mayfield trades lines with Fred Cash on the
gospel call and response, Sam Gooden provides backing harmony over
understated strings and brass arranged by Johnny Pate and guitar embellishment
from Mayfield. The only person for whom there is no room on the train is “the
hopeless sinner who would hurt all mankind just to save his own.”
The message wasn’t lost on Bob Marley: The Wailers learned much from
The Impressions, and Marley’s “One Love” references the tune. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
With their matching dog collars and shoulder-length hair, The Preachers from
Hermosa Beach must have looked pretty far out, even for 1965. Over the course
of their three singles, the quintet channeled snotty pre-punk energy into enduring
songs with nose-thumbing titles such as “Stay Out of My World.” Their first
release, however, was a cover of Bo Diddley’s rock ’n’ roll classic “Who Do
You Love.” The single stole from the British Invasion’s take on old American
blues and R&B and turned up the volume and energy to almost parodic levels.
Jettisoning the (very little) subtlety and nuance of Diddley’s original, The
Preachers produced harmonies that sounded like they were clearing their throats,
a surf-guitar break, and an effect as though keyboard player Rudy Garza was
bashing his instrument while wearing boxing gloves. A slot on the TV show
Shivaree saw the band leering at the camera and headbanging like stalwart
devotees of Kink Dave Davies.
Singer Richard Fortunato was soon fired by their label, Moonglow, for his
over-the-top vocal style, but “Who Do You Love” became a garage-band staple,
covered by back-to-basics groups across America—notably, Michigan’s Woolies
in 1966. The Doors stretched the song into a six-minutes-plus workout on 1970’s
Absolutely Live concert LP, featuring some dizzying slide guitar, but no one did
it with as much vim as The Preachers. PL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
With a Peter, Paul & Mary–esque brand of folk-inflected pop music couched in
full, close-blend harmonies, The Seekers scored a string of hits in the early
Sixties, including “I’ll Never Find Another You,” “Morningtown Ride,” and the
chirpy “Georgy Girl.” In the process, they became the first Australian group to
enjoy such success abroad. None of those hits, however, had the quiet majesty of
“The Carnival Is Over.”
The song’s melody derives from an old Russian folk song, though composer
Tom Springfield probably knew it from Pete Seeger’s version of 1953, “River of
My People.” Judith Durham delivers this lament for a lost love in a
characteristically clear, full-hearted vocal, the plaintive melody neatly
complementing the pathos of the lyrics. Stately strings rise up during the middle
eight, expanding the sound without compromising the power of Durham’s
controlled lead or the block harmonies behind her. A moving all-round
performance, “The Carnival Is Over” sold more than 90,000 copies a day at its
peak and gave The Seekers their second and final U.K. No. 1.
In 1986, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds delivered surely the most unexpected
take on “Carnival” for their Kicking Against the Pricks covers set. It is an
arresting, atmospheric reading, getting to the dark heart of melancholy in the
song and awakening new resonance in this Sixties staple. RD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Psycho
The Sonics (1965)
Writer | Jerry Roslie Producer | Buck Ormsby, Kent Morrill Label | Etiquette
Album | Here Are The Sonics (1965)
Long before grunge, the U.S. Pacific Northwest had a reputation for creating
blue-collar rock ’n’ roll at its most gloriously elemental, away from the glitz of
music-business hubs such as Los Angeles and New York. Unlike some of their
peers, the bands here were geographically isolated enough to forge their own
sound—plus, without ready access to big studios, they had to create a D.I.Y.
ethic that was a forerunner of the later punk scene.
Alongside groups such as Seattle’s Kingsmen, The Sonics were a group of
five teenagers from drizzly Tacoma, Washington, who had a freak local hit when
their debut single, “The Witch,” was picked up by a local DJ. Swiftly realizing
that they weren’t earning any royalties from the record’s B-side—a frantic cover
of Little Richard’s “Keep a Knockin’”—the band resolved to write a new
composition of their own after one of their regular Saturday-night gigs at local
nightclub The Red Carpet. “When we got done playing at about one o’clock in
the morning we sat down and wrote and rehearsed ‘Psycho.’ It took about fifteen
minutes,” recalled singer and keyboardist Jerry Roslie.
The result was eventually released as a single in its own right and remains a
needle-in-the-red, raw-throated shot of rock ’n’ roll that’s still thrilling decades
later: indeed, when The Sonics re-formed at the start of the twenty-first century,
they were able to play to packed halls worldwide. PL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Otis Redding, Jerry Butler Producer | Otis Redding, Jerry Butler Label
| Volt
Album | Otis Blue: Otis Redding Sings Soul (1965)
Otis Redding began his career in the early Sixties as an R&B bawler in the Little
Richard mold. But he defined himself and the burgeoning Stax sound a few
years later in the wake of the death of his idol, Sam Cooke, from whom he
inherited the mantle of Soul Brother No. 1. For his album Otis Blue of 1965,
Redding made a play for the mainstream by balancing Richard’s sexual bark and
Cooke’s elegant tenor. The record’s centerpiece was the slow-burning plea “I’ve
Been Loving You Too Long.”
Only a few months after Cooke was fatally shot by a motel keeper in Los
Angeles, Redding brought his composition to the legendary house band (none
other than Booker T. & The MG’s) at Stax Records. Like Cooke’s “A Change Is
Gonna Come,” Otis’s ballad is anchored by an insistent vocal lead that climbs to
emotional peaks and settles down into a confessional lament. He begins the song
with the title itself—a cry for his departed hero as much as for any unnamed
lover.
In part thanks to The Rolling Stones, who included a cover of “I’ve Been
Loving You Too Long” on their first live album, Redding enjoyed breakout
success with his ballad. In 1967, he wowed the unwashed masses at the
Monterey Pop Festival with it, securing crossover success. But on December 10
of that year, he joined Cooke in the hereafter when his tour plane plunged into an
icy Wisconsin lake. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“Stop! In the Name of Love” garnered The Supremes their fourth U.S. pop No. 1
and became the group’s in-concert showstopper. By 1965, the trio were
Motown’s hottest artists, and Berry Gordy was intent on establishing them as
superstars. Partly, this was purely commercial—The Supremes possessed a
finesse that made them more appealing to the masses than any other black-
American outfit of the time. And partly it was emotional—Gordy having become
enamored with Diana Ross.
Conceived by Lamont Dozier after he blurted out “Stop! In the name of
love” during an argument with his girlfriend, the song took dramatic shape when
Brian Holland developed it into a piano-driven, reflective ballad. Gordy
recognized the song’s quality but, noting that The Supremes’ biggest-selling
singles had all been propulsive dance numbers, insisted Holland-Dozier-Holland
increase its tempo. The song took on a fierce dance groove, with bassist James
Jamerson laying down a driving rhythm over James Gittens’s electric organ.
The lyric was basic girl-group stuff, with Ross worrying that her boyfriend
has become involved with another woman. Yet her vocal is among the singer’s
most affecting, reminding her beau how good their thing is while demanding he
stop playing around. Performed with traffic-cop-style hand gestures, “Stop! In
the Name of Love” became one of the group’s best-loved songs. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“‘The pump don’t work / ‘Cause the vandals stole the handle.’ I’ll
always love that line.”
Roger Waters, 1987
My Generation
The Who (1965)
The Who’s third single is probably still their best known, a glorious adrenaline-
rush anthem for disaffected youth, a caustic expression of rebellion inspired in
part by the London mods that followed the band in their early days. “My
Generation” was originally envisioned by guitarist and songwriter Pete
Townshend as a slow Jimmy Reed–influenced Chicago-blues-style number;
indeed, The Who later recorded a blues version on Live at Leeds in 1970.
However, the uptempo final master take of “My Generation” was explosive,
aggressive pop, like nothing else in 1965. Townshend’s feedback-drenched,
distorted guitar, John Entwistle’s thundering bass, and Keith Moon’s pounding
drums and crashing cymbals underline Roger Daltrey’s arrogant sneer of “I hope
I die before I get old”—one of the most famous lines in pop. The masterstroke
was provided by co-manager Kit Lambert when he told Daltrey to stutter the line
“Why don’t you all f-fade away,” a hint that Daltrey had a considerably stronger
phrase in mind.
The song reached the U.K. No. 2 and became the climax of The Who’s live
set, often ending in howling feedback from Townshend’s Rickenbacker guitar,
which would be poked into the speaker cabinet and smashed while Moon pushed
his drums over and kicked them across the stage. And, like their heyday stage
act, “My Generation” remains one of rock’s defining statements. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Unchained Melody
The Righteous Brothers (1965)
Writer | Alex North, Hy Zaret Producer | Bill Medley (credited to Phil Spector)
Label | Philles
Album | Just Once in My Life (1965)
The Righteous Brothers (Bobby Hatfield and Bill Medley) recorded on the
Philles label owned by Phil Spector; the latter produced their single releases but
also took production credit for many of the album tracks and B-sides that were
actually produced by Medley. Medley was not concerned by this arrangement,
but Spector was privately furious when DJs gave more airtime to the B-side
“Unchained Melody” (actually a solo sung by Bobby Hatfield) than his A-side,
the Gerry Goffin/ Carole King song “Hung on You.” “Unchained Melody,”
originally recorded as an album track, was a solo ballad more suited to Hatfield’s
tenor voice than Medley’s bass, but wound up credited to The Righteous
Brothers on the single release.
It was not the first time that “Unchained Melody” had reached the charts.
Written as the theme to the prison movie Unchained in 1955, the song became a
No. 1 hit for Les Baxter, and within weeks was followed by a cover by Al
Hibbler that reached No. 3. Later the same year, Roy Hamilton, June Valli, and
Harry Belafonte all recorded versions that made the U.S. Top Forty, while a
cover by Jimmy Young topped the U.K. charts.
The Righteous Brothers’ recording enjoyed a revival after appearing in the
movie Ghost (1990), when it was re-released. In the United Kingdom this
prompted a second re-release of the Brothers’ other hit—“You’ve Lost That
Lovin’ Feelin’.” MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Jacques Dutronc began his music career as a session guitarist with acts such as
El Toro et les Cyclones and Eddy Mitchell. He subsequently found work as a
house writer, with lyricist and scriptwriter Jacques Lanzmann, for the Disques
Vogue label. The two Jacques had initially put together this song for French pop
singer Benjamin. His success, though, proved short lived, and the label’s artistic
director, Jacques Wolfsohn, suggested the song as Dutronc’s solo debut.
The track proved an immediate success, turning Dutronc into one of the
leading players in the French Yé-yé scene of the late Sixties. Taking the fuzzy
freakbeat guitar sounds of The Pretty Things and The Kinks as a base, Dutronc
added his own biting Gallic attitude, to great effect. The song’s tongue-in-cheek
lyrical style and sideswipes at the lame elements of the folk-protest movement
made it particularly popular with the mod scene in Britain, despite the language
barrier, as well as with Les Minets, the mods’ French equivalent.
Earlier French garage hits had come from the so-called Yé-yé Girls—the
likes of France Gall, Sylvie Vartan, and Françoise Hardy (whom Dutronc went
on to marry in the early Eighties). But “Et moi . . .” marked the beginning of an
era of insouciant male-fronted French R&B that found an echo in the work of
Gallic superstars such as Johnny Hallyday and Serge Gainsbourg. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Stay with Me
Lorraine Ellison (1966)
The studio was booked, the orchestra was primed, but the singer—Frank Sinatra
—was sick. Warner Bros. offered producer Jerry Ragovoy the slot, and he had
just enough time to work up an arrangement for a song he had recently written.
He had a voice in mind, too. Lorraine (born Marybelle Luraine) Ellison was a
respected gospel singer who’d gone secular in 1964 and had an R&B hit, “I Dig
You Baby,” the following year. She was set to record a song so powerful, so
deep, and so spine-chilling that it would effectively define the term “soul
music,” not to mention her career.
“Stay with Me” (a U.S. R&B No. 11) starts slowly and cautiously. Just under
a minute in, at the end of the first verse, the music swells and Ellison erupts,
tearing into the word “leave” and holding it in a scream for five seconds. This is
the full, sanctified gospel experience, but the object of her love is a cheating
ingrate, and as he leaves he is ripping her heart out. Seemingly losing herself in
intensity, Ellison remains controlled enough throughout to take the mood right
back down again for each verse. In fact, it is her formal, perfect diction between
choruses that makes each operatic scream such a shock, no matter how well you
know the song. It is difficult to believe she didn’t end the session lying sobbing
on the floor as her lover wriggled free and disappeared through the door. A real
man would have stayed. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Al-atlal
Umm Kulthum (1966)
Most recently used by Dell to advertise their XPS laptop, “You’re Gonna Miss
Me” is the apogee of early U.S. psychedelic rock, recorded by a band who would
routinely hand out free LSD to their audiences, who employed a man playing an
electric jug onstage, who reportedly chose their name because the thirteenth
letter of the alphabet was “M” (for marijuana), and whose sleevenotes advocated
the use of drugs as a gateway to a higher, “non-Aristotelian” state of
consciousness.
“You’re Gonna Miss Me” is a thrillingly concise blast of red-eyed Sixties
punk aggression. Combining singer Roky Erickson’s otherworldly yowling, an
invigorating surf-guitar break, and Tommy Hall’s odd warbling jug noise, the
song was initially recorded by Erickson’s band The Spades, gaining a release on
a small local label before a re-recorded version by the Elevators (“Thirteenth,”
not the “13th” of the single’s label) was picked up by International Artists.
“You’re Gonna Miss Me” became the Austin, Texas, band’s only national U.S.
hit, reaching No. 55 on the Billboard chart.
Following a handful of increasingly deranged albums and singles, in 1969
Erickson pleaded insanity to escape a drugs charge and wound up being
committed to a mental asylum. However, the support of friends and fans such as
ZZ Top, R.E.M., and Primal Scream has led to several recent and successful
comeback tours for the singer. PL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Substitute
The Who (1966)
“Of course it was a drug song . . . we were stoned when we wrote it.”
David Crosby, 1980
Sunny Afternoon
The Kinks (1966)
Paint It Black
The Rolling Stones (1966)
“It was the lyrics that sent me over to the dark side. There was a path
that led to The Doors, the Velvets, and the Banshees.”
Marc Almond, 2007
Over a two-year period, The Lovin’ Spoonful kicked out a string of sunny hits—
including the sublime “Do You Believe in Magic” and “Daydream”—that
encapsulated all that was great about mid-Sixties pop; top of the heap was
“Summer in the City.”
It opens with B-movie horror keyboards and the thwack of a snare drum,
recorded in a stairwell for über-reverb. Auto horns and jackhammers epitomize
the sticky oppression of a sizzling city day. As with The Kinks’ wry “Sunny
Afternoon,” a U.K. hit that same summer, the song’s verse is built around
downwardly descending shifts through minor chords—“Back of my neck all
dirty and gritty. . . . Doesn’t seem to be a shadow in the city”—before exploding
into major-key relief with the chorus—“But tonight it’s a different world!”
The lyrics had been written by Mark Sebastian, sibling of the Spoonful’s key
songwriter, John, while still a student at Blair Academy. Brother John expanded
on that contrast between daytime exhaustion and nighttime euphoria with the
keyboard part: “I was going for the scary, minor chord, ‘Hit-the-road-Jack’
chord sequence that doesn’t warn you of what’s coming in the chorus.”
“We felt the only way we could stick out would be to sound completely
different from one single to another,” he mused later. A good tactic: chart-wise,
the song hit the Billboard top spot—their sole U.S. No. 1—and made U.K. No.
8. RD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Brian Wilson, Tony Asher Producer | Brian Wilson Label | Capitol
Album | Pet Sounds (1966)
In 1966, Brian Wilson was in Hollywood, tumbling into his own clinical state of
Beatlemania. He was the only man on earth who could declare that he was going
to make a record as good as Rubber Soul and actually pull it off. Brian and The
Beach Boys had made nine full-length albums in three years and, against all
odds, were showing signs of transforming what seemed like a passing surfer fad
into pop’s answer to classical music.
Pet Sounds, The Beach Boys’ riposte to Rubber Soul, was anchored by a
stunning ballad, “God Only Knows,” about love and the unspeakable despair
that can live in its absence. Enlisting more than twenty studio musicians to create
a soundscape of accordion, French horn, clarinet, saxophone, and cello, Wilson
composed a three-voice hymn that approached spirituality with a tentative faith.
For the first time, someone was writing pop that demanded concentration.
The verses stretched at the confines of rock chord progressions, linked by a
bridge that didn’t reveal its destination until it got there. Carl Wilson’s lead
vocal, like a shepherd, guided the listener through. Not many love songs open
with a downer like “I may not always love you,” but when it’s followed by “But
long as there are stars above you / You’ll never need to doubt it,” we know, too,
that God destroys as much as he creates. Not long after he wrote “God Only
Knows,” Brian Wilson heard Sgt. Pepper’s and lost his mind. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
History has been unkind to one of the great bands of the Sixties. It all comes
down to looks, and The Raiders’ eighteenth-century Revolutionary War
costumes count against them every time. Formed in 1958, the group made the
charts in 1965, thanks to the patronage of Dick Clark’s television shows.
Bizarrely, the men in the tricornered hats were the first great punk band. Tracks
such as “. . . Stepping Stone,” “Steppin’ Out,” and the anti-drugs “Kicks”
featured fuzzy organ, stinging guitars, and a Jagger-on-steroids snarl, courtesy of
Mark Lindsay. Iggy Pop’s claim to the title of “Godfather of Punk” is in doubt
after hearing Lindsay’s delivery of this song, particularly the words “book of
Who’s Who.”
In 1966, Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart (and their band, The Candy Store
Prophets) were part of The Monkees’ studio squad. Following The Raiders’
release of “. . . Stepping Stone” on Midnight Ride, the pair tweaked the title
slightly (replacing “Stepping” with “Steppin’”) and dragged Mickey Dolenz into
Hollywood’s Western Recorders Studio to outsnarl Lindsay. He failed, but the
track remains the spikiest thing The Monkees ever did, although the irony of
singing lyrics about not being walked over would not have been lost on that
band. Issued as the B-side of their transatlantic No. 1 “I’m a Believer,” The
Monkees’ version made the Billboard Top Twenty in its own right. More
important, however, was that snarl’s long tail. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Although the original by Jorge Ben had been a big hit in Brazil in 1963, “Mas
que nada” (Why, No Way) is best known around the world for the version cut by
Sérgio Mendes, aka “The swinger from Rio.” Ben had written the song as an
homage to another Carioca (resident of Rio), a friend of his called Rosinha, who
lived in Copacabana and habitually used the eponymous expression.
A classically trained pianist, Mendes had left Brazil hurriedly in 1964 after
the newly installed military dictatorship started breathing down his neck, as they
did with many other artists. Initially struggling on the L.A. lounge scene,
Mendes hit paydirt when he hooked up with Herb Alpert’s A&M label for the
Brasil ’66 album. The lead track was his brisk take on “Mas que nada” (titled
“Mais que nada”), featuring Mendes on piano; a tight, peppy rhythm section; and
airy lead vocals by his newly acquired Chicago-bred singer, Lani Hall. Her
phonetically learned pronunciation of the Portuguese lyrics was so convincing
that even Brazilians thought she could speak their language—which she
couldn’t.
The song has enjoyed surprising longevity. In a fortieth-anniversary
celebration of his breakthrough, Mendes re-recorded a new hiphop-meets-samba
update of the song with Black Eyed Peas’ will.i.am for the album Timeless—a
title that reflects how he feels about the song. JLu See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
El muerto vivo
Peret (1966)
Pere Pubill Calaf, aka Peret, was born in 1935 to Romany Gypsy parents in
Barcelona; his recording career began in 1957. Initially playing flamenco, Peret
began to add elements from American rock ‘n’ roll and Cuban dance music. The
new sound came to be called “rumba flamenco,” or “rumba Catalanya,” and was
immediately popular. Recorded in 1966, “El muerto vivo” (The Dead Alive)
gained wide popularity with music fans of diverse social backgrounds. The
buoyant mix of flamenco guitar and rumba rhythms in this and other Sixties
recordings by Peret influenced all Catalan Gypsy music and helped to reinvent
Spanish pop. Meanwhile, Peret acted in, and provided the music for, the
Academy Award–nominated 1963 film Los Tarantos—a Romeo and Juliet-
based story shot in Somorrostro, Barcelona’s former Gypsy neighborhood.
When Franco’s Spain returned to democracy, Peret found himself out of
favor and turned to preaching. Ironically, the Gipsy Kings (Catalan-speaking
Romanies from the south of France) then took the sound Peret pioneered to a
massive pop audience. The likes of Manu Chao and Ojos de Brujo championed
Peret’s groovy mix of flamenco and rumba rhythms as Barcelona’s rootsy sound,
and Peret once again found himself fashionable. He would re-record “El muerto
vivo” in 2009 as a duet with Marina of Ojos de Brujo. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
By 1966, only diehard fans expected greatness from Elvis Presley. However, in
May and June that year, Presley cut some of his most important recordings since
his heyday. Those sessions, best known for the songs on 1967’s Grammy-
winning gospel album How Great Thou Art, which heralded the King’s musical
comeback, also included a take on Bob Dylan’s “Tomorrow Is a Long Time”
that was hailed by the composer as his favorite cover.
This was not Presley’s only excursion into Dylan’s discography. He recorded
“Blowin’ in the Wind” at home around the same time, and later covered “Don’t
Think Twice, It’s Alright” and “I Shall Be Released.” His template for
“Tomorrow Is a Long Time,” however, was a sparse, bluesy version by Odetta, a
folk singer who had influenced Dylan himself. Utterly at odds with Presley’s
contemporary output, the track was spooky and, at over five minutes, unusually
long.
The composer’s own version—originally destined for 1963’s The
Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan—went unreleased, although a live take adorned his
Greatest Hits Vol. II in 1971. In the meantime, the song was covered by artists
including Rod Stewart (on Every Picture Tells a Story) and Nick Drake (on
posthumously released demos). But neither they nor subsequent attempts by
Sandy Denny and others would even approach the heights of Presley’s definitive
version. BM
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Eleanor Rigby
The Beatles (1966)
“Prior to that, I thought the music was very good, but [not necessarily
important]. For me, ‘Eleanor Rigby’ was the start.”
Paul McCartney, 2009
“I must have sung that 500,000 times. I was drenched with sweat. I
had to take my shirt off and stand . . . in my bra to sing.”
Tina Turner, 2004
7 and 7 Is
Love (1966)
“The Doors idolized Arthur. They took a lot of style from Love.
There’s no question about that.”
Paul Rothchild, producer, 1994
96 Tears
? & The Mysterians (1966)
On their 2009 tour, Bruce Springsteen & The E-Street Band invited audience
members to shout out song names to see if they could find something the band
couldn’t play. In Atlanta, the request was “96 Tears,” the organ-driven No. 1
1966 smash from ? & The Mysterians. Springsteen paused before launching into
a boisterous version of a song that, like “Louie Louie,” has been played by a
thousand garage bands around the world.
First released on indie label Pa-Go-Go, “96 Tears” was picked up by Cameo-
Parkway and went to No. 1 as America grooved to the yelping vocals and organ
riff and ignored the slightly sinister revenge fantasy of the lyrics. The
Mysterians, named after a Japanese horror movie, were from Michigan; their
singer was “?,” who claimed to be 10,000 years old and have been born on Mars,
but was probably Rudy Martinez, a Mexican-American never photographed
without his sunglasses on.
“96 Tears” inspired a wave of garage acts but didn’t feature on the genre-
defining Nuggets album because, like the rest of Cameo’s back catalog, the
original version was locked in a vault. (It was finally re-released in 2005.) Even
that couldn’t stop its becoming a cultural icon, quoted in song by acts as diverse
as The B-52’s, Tom Russell, and The Cramps, covered by Aretha Franklin and
Suicide, and exuberantly belted out by bar bands—including Springsteen’s—
everywhere. PW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Written, according to Teen Scene magazine, in ten minutes by The Seeds’ lead
singer, Sky Saxon (born Richard Marsh), while waiting for his girlfriend in a
supermarket parking lot, “Pushin’ Too Hard” is a two-chord garage-punk classic
and arguably the apotheosis of The Seeds’ unique sound.
Saxon later claimed that the song was also partly inspired by the closure of
the Pandora’s Box club on Sunset Strip. (It had been acquired by Los Angeles
City Council following the youth protests against curfew laws outside the club,
which led to the so-called Riot on Sunset Strip.) As this happened in November
1966 and The Seeds’ second single was first released in March and a hit in
August, Saxon’s recollection is shaky, but the song did tap into the defiant mood
of the youth of southern California, and The Seeds built a large following in
L.A. Reaching No. 36 nationally, the single was defined by Saxon’s sneering,
nasal, whining vocals, the rudimentary but jazzy electric piano from Daryl
Hooper, Jan Savage’s mix of surf and fuzz guitar, and Rick Andridge’s primitive
drumming.
Hooper’s prominent electric piano surely influenced his City of Angels
neighbor, The Doors’ Ray Manzarek, and “Pushin’ Too Hard” was included on
Lenny Kaye’s 1972 Elektra Records compilation, Nuggets: Original Artyfacts of
the First Psychedelic Era, 1965–68, which was an irrefutable influence on the
Seventies punk scene. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Psychotic Reaction
The Count Five (1966)
Writer | The Count Five Producer | Hal Winn, Joseph Hooven Label | Double
Shot
Album | Psychotic Reaction (1966)
“I finally came to realize that grossness was the truest criterion for rock ‘n’ roll,”
wrote Lester Bangs, whose book Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung took
its inspiration from this garage-rock anthem. And, of all the noisy, messy records
cut by scruffy teens in the mid-Sixties, it is “Psychotic Reaction” that best nails
the sweaty thrills of that era’s music, from its ghostly harmonica wails to its
sudden tempo changes, wacka-wacka guitar strumming, and straight-ahead rock
screaming.
The Count Five were really just kids when they formed in San Jose,
California, its five members led by nineteen-year-old singer and rhythm guitarist
John Byrne. The story goes that Byrne was taking a health-education class at
college—on psychosis—when his buddy Rob Lamb opined that “Psychotic
Reaction” would make a good name for a song, and Byrne used the title to pin
down a melody he’d had going through his head all day.
At their live shows, The Count Five strode onstage in Dracula-style capes
before launching into their set, taking every gig as an opportunity to rework
“Psychotic Reaction” to achieve maximum craziness. Their efforts paid off.
“Psychotic Reaction” hit No. 5 on the Billboard chart in 1966, and The Count
Five were offered a million dollars’ worth of bookings. Instead, they chose to go
to college. Asked recently if the band regretted the decision, Byrne replied,
“Yes. Wouldn’t you?” SH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
A second U.S. No. 1 for The Four Tops, “Reach Out” marked the peak of their
long career. It was a distinct break from their earlier style—darker and more
dramatic, with contrasts of major and minor keys—but most noticeable was the
newly edgy vocal style of lead singer Levi Stubbs. At the recording session,
Motown songwritingand-production team Holland-Dozier-Holland had
encouraged Stubbs to sing at the top of his baritone range. Combined with the
call-and-response style of the song, this strain on his voice gave the track a
gospel-like fervor and urgency, matched by backing vocals from the quartet and
Motown’s resident female singers, The Andantes.
After recording the number—allegedly in two takes—the performers
presumed it was destined to be an album track. Motown boss Berry Gordy
recognized the song as hit material, however, and released it as a single in late
1966; within weeks, it made No. 1 in both the R&B charts and the Billboard Hot
100. It did, however, later appear on an album, as the lead track of Reach Out.
Another Holland-Dozier-Holland number—“Standing in the Shadows of
Love”—returned the Tops to the charts in November 1966, though it was their
last big hit. However, the quartet continued as a popular live act, with the same
lineup as when they first got together as The Four Aims in the Fifties, until
Lawrence Payton’s death, in 1997. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Good Vibrations
The Beach Boys (1966)
Inspired by The Beatles’ ambitious pop, Beach Boy Brian Wilson left the world
of simple surf anthems and embarked on creating his own complex opus. The
result was 1966’s Pet Sounds, which cleared the bar set by The Beatles for
experimental rock. But Wilson’s grandest statement was still to come.
“Good Vibrations” began during the Pet Sounds sessions, yet its recording
stretched months past that album’s release. Driven to capture the sounds he
heard in his head, Wilson used eight months and several studios in recording the
epic track. This unprecedented attention to detail, although linked to Wilson’s
mental breakdown of 1967, paid off beyond his wildest expectations.
Wilson’s publicist Derek Taylor was credited with calling “Good
Vibrations” a “pocket symphony.” Equally extravagant and concise, the three-
and-a-half-minute single benefited both from staggering ambition and an ear for
what works on radio. The baroque music unfolds in chapters, united by romantic
imagery, lush harmonies, and unusual instrumentation (including a theremin). It
is curiously irresistible, so dense with ideas it demands multiple rotations.
“Good Vibrations” was the band’s third U.S. No. 1 hit and its first in the
U.K. Thirty-seven years later, the song was re-recorded and united with its
intended family on Smile, Wilson’s intended follow-up solo album to Pet
Sounds. JiH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
After The Beatles, The Kinks were always the most sonically adventurous of the
great British bands of the Sixties, and in Ray Davies they had perhaps the most
distinctive songwriter of their generation. Without watering down his words or
themes, Davies was able to find the middle ground between McCartney’s
sentimentality and Lennon’s cynicism, and in “Dead End Street” produced a
song about poverty that managed to be sympathetic without being patronizing,
and angry without being bitter.
The genius is in the details, as Davies draws out the scene in four short,
brilliant opening lines: “There’s a crack up in the ceiling And the kitchen sink is
leaking Out of job and got no money / A Sunday joint of bread and honey.” For
the narrator, the Sixties is emphatically failing to swing. The sound of the song is
also highly individual, with mournful trumpet underpinning a tune that uses
tricks from blues and folk, sudden changes of rhythm, and shouted backing
vocals to get over the requisite sense of pride and despair. Fellow Kinks Dave
Davies and Pete Quaife have both named it as one of the best three songs that
Ray ever wrote, and its influence—a jaunty tune backing a desolate tale—can be
heard in the work of some of the great British working-class bands that followed,
particularly Madness, The Smiths, and Pulp, English essayists all. PW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Bob Crewe, Bob Gaudio Producer | Johnny Franz Label | Philips
Album | N/A
While the Sixties “British Invasion” spearheaded by The Beatles saw U.K. acts
clean up Stateside, it wasn’t all one-way traffic. An all-American trio regroomed
themselves in Britain as a brooding boy band and became the biggest pop act in
1966—the year of this song, their second U.K. No. 1. They were neither brothers
nor were their surnames Walker, but they looked like siblings, and damn cute
ones, too. Noel Scott Engel (later changed to Scott Walker) was the heartthrob,
backed by Gary Leeds and John Maus.
Mariachi-style guitar-strum and trumpets open the mid-tempo number, and
then a thunderous Spector-esque wall of sound, with drums and bass emanating
from a seemingly huge chasm, envelops the listener into the opening word:
“Loneliness.” Scott’s articulate, mellifluous vocals make perfect plaintive pleas
for romance-seeking teen girls. As the song reaches its epic and eponymous
chorus, the boys give their all, backed by lush, dramatic, positively cinematic
orchestrations arranged by Ivor Raymonde.
Originally recorded in 1965 by Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons, the song
topped the U.K. charts for The Walker Brothers in March 1966. (It peaked at No.
13 in the United States.) After their split the following year, only Scott Walker
went on to achieve solo fame, becoming the self-styled reclusive “Orson Welles
of the record industry.” JJH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Friday on My Mind
The Easybeats (1966)
I’m a Believer
The Monkees (1966)
“I thought, well, what should I do that’s just like the most unhip thing
you can possibly think of?”
Robert Wyatt, 1996
Dirty Water
The Standells (1966)
As both an archetypal U.S. garage track and the official victory song of the
Boston Red Sox, “Dirty Water” lives on today in the affections of aficionados of
both Sixties punk and Boston baseball—although this barefaced Rolling Stones
tribute was recorded by a band who made a living playing the upmarket supper
clubs of Los Angeles and had never actually visited Beantown.
A simple twelve-bar blues written by The Standells’ manager and producer,
Ed Cobb—the man also responsible for Gloria Jones’s Northern Soul classic,
“Tainted Love,” later covered by Soft Cell—“Dirty Water” was inspired by an
inauspicious visit by Cobb to Boston in the early Sixties, when he was mugged
on a bridge over the Charles River. Noting also the pollution in Boston Harbor,
and throwing in a couple of timely references to the Boston Strangler and the
contemporary curfew for female students at Boston University, Cobb gave the
song to his charges, The Standells, led by former Mouseketeer Dick Dodd.
“Dirty Water” became a Top Ten hit in June 1966, but the band would never
achieve the same kind of commercial success again. Still, the song’s adoption by
the Red Sox in the Nineties led to the reformed Standells’ playing at Fenway
Park when the team won the 2004 World Series. Indeed, U2, Steely Dan, The
Mars Volta, Aerosmith, and Bruce Springsteen have all covered it live in
Boston. PL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
I Feel Free
Cream (1966)
Writer | Jack Bruce, Pete Brown Producer | Robert Stigwood Label | Reaction
Album | N/A
After the curious false start of “Wrapping Paper,” their debut single, Cream—
Jack Bruce, Eric Clapton, and Ginger Baker (the world’s first rock supergroup)
—needed to prove that they could live up to the hype surrounding their
formation. With “I Feel Free,” all fears were assuaged. Serious blues musicians
could make pop music.
Written by bassist and vocalist Bruce and lyricist Pete Brown, the single,
recorded at London’s Rye Muse Studios, was a complete palette cleanser. A
U.K. No. 11, it was a blast of aggressive joy that arrived just before the point
when beat finally gave way to psychedelia. Brown’s breezy message of all-
consuming love showcases Bruce’s remarkable voice. Clapton distills his
considerable skills into a guitar solo notable for its brevity. Baker was never
happy with his drumming, but it complements the song’s frenetic pace perfectly.
Although it was left off the U.K. version of their debut album, Fresh Cream,
the track opened the U.S. release, establishing the intense love affair that nation
was to have with the group. Among the song’s admirers was David Bowie, who
performed it on his 1972 Ziggy Stardust tour and recorded it on 1993’s Black Tie
White Noise album. The Foo Fighters have also cut a spirited rendition.
“I Feel Free” makes the listener feel elated and then finishes before it
outstays its welcome. It remains one of Cream’s finest moments. DE
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Although steeped in soul and pop, Motown paid close attention to rock music.
“You Keep Me Hangin’ On” stands as a precursor to Norman Whitfield’s
harder-edged late-Sixties psychedelic soul productions with The Temptations.
Producers Brian Holland and Lamont Dozier created a dramatic, swooping
guitar opening that hooks the listener before The Funk Brothers come crashing
in with a tense groove. The Morse code-like riff comes across like an emergency
call for emotional rescue. Diana Ross rides the backing with an impassioned,
dramatic vocal. (It’s a full minute before the other Supremes join in—a sign,
perhaps, that Ross was already being groomed for solo stardom.) Backed by
thick organ, syncopated tambourine, pulsing bass, crashing drums, and that
insidious guitar riff, never had The Supremes sounded quite so desperate. Ross
spits like a blues singer when announcing: “And there ain’t nothin’ I can do
about it!” Florence Ballard and Mary Wilson provide stirring, gospel-flavored
backing vocals and the conceit of love as something approaching an addiction
ramps up the song’s drama quota.
“You Keep Me Hangin’ On” became a favorite of rock bands. In 2003,
songwriter Brian Holland praised Vanilla Fudge’s prog-rock workout on the
song: “They took it to a totally different place. Most cover records just copied
what we did. But Vanilla Fudge made it a whole different ballgame.” GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
This is the only Yardbirds single to feature both Jimmy Page and Jeff Beck
playing guitar together and one of only three songs recorded by the band to
feature both men (the others being its B-side, “Psycho Daisies,” and “Stroll On,”
from the soundtrack to Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blow Up). In a catalog ripe
with pioneering experimentation on tracks such as “Still I’m Sad” and “Shapes
of Things,” it is the group’s most progressive release, an early milestone of
psychedelic music.
Page had joined the band as a replacement for original bass player Paul
Samwell-Smith (who left to become a producer) but soon switched to playing
lead guitar. Here, he duals with Beck on an astonishingly dense, multilayered
record that utilizes feedback, guitars imitating a police siren and an explosion,
reverse tapes, and a thundering riff, topped with a mixed-up, tripped-out lyric
sung by Keith Relf that vaguely hints at reincarnation—“Was it real, was it in
my dreams? I need to know what it all means.” John Paul Jones plays bass,
preempting his partnership with Page in Led Zeppelin—a group that initially
went under the name of The New Yardbirds.
Released in October 1966, the single broke the band’s run of five U.K. Top
Ten singles, reaching No. 43; it fared little better in the United States, peaking at
No. 30 on the Billboard chart and No. 34 on Cashbox. Ah, but what do charts
know? JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
In 1963, The Beatles were content to hold a girl’s hand. By the time of
Tomorrow Never Knows, they wanted to make love to the entire universe.
Psychedelic drugs, especially LSD, turned the world of pop on its head during
the late Sixties and shifted its focus from schoolyard romance to nothing less
than spiritual enlightenment.
So it was with “Tomorrow Never Knows,” the final track of Revolver,
released in 1966. One of the first examples of psychedelic rock, it retains its
electrifying modernity today. Shortly after John Lennon began experimenting
with LSD, he obtained a copy of The Psychedelic Experience, written by acid
guru Timothy Leary, from which the opening line of the song (“Turn off your
mind, relax and float downstream”) is borrowed.
The result of this collision between chemistry and philosophy is a
revolutionary piece of music. Driven by pounding drums, the track is haunted by
drones and strange birdlike cries, as if seagulls were wheeling above some
unearthly shoreline. Lennon’s vocal outlines the tenets of a new faith against this
extraordinary sonic backdrop.
There are many crumbs of historical interest to enjoy in “Tomorrow Never
Knows.” The reversed, heavily edited guitar solo was lifted from “Taxman,” the
opening track of Revolver, while the song takes its title from a typically
enigmatic remark made by Ringo Starr during a BBC television interview. JD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The End
The Doors (1967)
“The End” is one of those songs that you may not like but you have to admire.
It’s huge, in length and in scope, a monument to taboo-busting and boundary-
breaking that was remarkable even in 1967, when popular music really started to
explore the parameters of what could be accomplished.
It wasn’t meant to be that way. “The End” began life as a standard three-
minute pop song, much like The Doors’ breakthrough hit “Light My Fire,” but
got whacked right out of shape during drug-soaked performances in Los
Angeles; by the time the track became the closer of their debut album, it
weighed in at nearly twelve haunting minutes of sinister organ, Indian-
influenced guitar drone, and sparse jazz drumming, set against a raging and
controversial spoken-word Oedipal subtext.
This was music unlike anything that went before, inspiring countless bands
from Black Sabbath to The Cult to Joy Division. But as Morrison lapsed into
sweaty self-parody (as early as 1968, Rolling Stone was arguing that organist
Manzarek “has what Morrison does not have: subtlety”), The Doors became
profoundly uncool. After Francis Ford Coppola borrowed “The End” for the
brilliant but overblown Apocalypse Now, the song became a benchmark for
pomposity, lampooned by hip kids from Zappa to Nirvana. But, despite all that,
it is an Ozymandian accomplishment: one of spine-tingling bravura and
ambitious splendor. PW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Electricity
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band (1967)
Writer | Don Van Vliet, Herb Bermann Producer | Richard Perry, Bob Krasnow
Label | Buddah
Album | Safe As Milk (1967)
British DJ John Peel once said, “If there has ever been such a thing as a genius in
the history of popular music, it’s Beefheart. I heard echoes of his music in some
of the records I listened to last week and I’ll hear more echoes in records that I
listen to this week.” For aficionados of Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
“Electricity” from Safe As Milk is one song with echoes of what had come before
and signs of what would come next for the group.
Van Vliet (Beefheart, who added the “Van” to his given name in the early
Sixties) later claimed that the off-kilter, occasionally dark, material for this
album led A&M Records to drop the group. After parting with A&M, they recut
the songs with guitarist Ry Cooder (ex-The Rising Sons). Buddah Records
picked up where A&M had left off.
The debut album by Van Vliet & Co. is heavily rooted in Delta blues but
departs from this template to foreshadow much of the good Captain’s future
output. “Electricity” is a case in point. Coming on like a psychedelic hoedown,
“Electricity” combines bluesy rhythms with full-on creepiness, the latter
particularly evident in Van Vliet’s stream-of-consciousness lyrics and rasped
repetition of the song’s title. Drummer John “Drumbo” French’s neat high-hat
work punctuates the song, while Cooder provides the nagging bottleneck riff.
The distinctive theremin warbles come courtesy of Dr. Samuel Hoffman. CS-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Corcovado
Frank Sinatra & Antônio Carlos Jobim (1967)
Bossa nova (Portuguese for “new trend”) had been around for some years in
Brazil, but took a while to catch on in the English-speaking world. When it did,
the songs of Antônio Carlos (“Tom”) Jobim appeared in the repertoires of
numerous singers. “Corcovado” (the title refers to the Corcovado mountain in
Rio de Janeiro, with its famous Cristo Redentor statue)—or “Quiet Nights of
Quiet Stars” in the English version of the lyrics by Gene Lees—was covered by
Tony Bennett, Doris Day, Perry Como, and Johnny Mathis, while jazz greats
including Miles Davis established it as a standard.
In 1967, Frank Sinatra embraced bossa nova, too. In a huge departure from
his show-stopping style, the fifty-two-year-old embarked on a collaboration with
the composer himself, toning down his performance to the understated delivery
typical of the genre. Gone too was the big-band backing, replaced with
arrangements by Claus Ogerman and his orchestra, who were closely associated
with Jobim. The resulting album, Francis Albert Sinatra & Antônio Carlos
Jobim, was a collection of definitive versions of Jobim songs, especially “Quiet
Nights of Quiet Stars,” now regarded as a classic. Although it won critical
acclaim and a Grammy award, it was not a great commercial success, and a
planned second album was reduced to just one side of the 1971 long player
Sinatra & Company. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Heroin
The Velvet Underground (1967)
“When I put a spike into my vein Then I tell you, things aren’t quite the same
When I’m rushing on my run / And I feel just like Jesus’ son,” croons Lou Reed
fifteen seconds into the opening verse. It is a watershed moment in rock history.
While The Byrds (“Eight Miles High”) and Bob Dylan (“Rainy Day Women #12
and 35”) had touched on the taboo topic, “Heroin” was the first time a rock band
had sung about drug use so unambiguously.
Written back in 1964, while Reed was still honing his skills as a Pickwick
Records intern, the nihilistic verse was completely out of sync with the free-love
hippie hype of the late Sixties. But “Heroin” was neither a cautionary tale nor a
glamorization of junkie pride; it was poetry.
Musically, the song was equally innovative. While its seven minutes and
twelve seconds were built around deceptively simple D and G-flat-major chords,
the whirlpool of Sterling Morrison’s arcing rhythm-guitar arpeggios, John Cale’s
screeching electric viola, and Maureen Tucker’s hypnotic tribal drumming
sounded like nothing else in rock, a musical metaphor for a narcotic high. The
classically trained Cale’s atonal, one-chord drone also mainlined minimalist
avant-garde dissonance into pop music for the first time.
Unsurprisingly, the song never got radio airplay, but its legacy lives on in the
work of countless musicians, writers, and filmmakers. MK
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Chelsea Girls
Nico (1967)
Writer | Lou Reed, Sterling Morrison Producer | Tom Wilson Label | Verve
Album | Chelsea Girl (1967)
German-born model Christa Päffgen—she was given the name Nico by fashion
photographer Herbert Tobias—was not a natural singer, but she did have an
imposing presence: a tall, blonde, beautiful German, and an inscrutable poseur
with a heroin addiction that often turned her crazy.
Right after singing on The Velvet Underground’s debut album, she started on
her first solo work, Chelsea Girl. The title refers to Andy Warhol’s 1966 film,
Chelsea Girls, in which she had starred, the name a reference to the notoriously
louche Hotel Chelsea in which it was mostly shot. Her own song about the hotel,
all seven minutes, twenty-two seconds of it, consists of a simple electric guitar
line played by the Velvets’ guitarist Sterling Morrison, with an insistent flute
and occasional string accompaniment. Nico flatly intones her tale of the hotel’s
unstable and drugged inhabitants, the girls of both genders and none, of Bridget
“all wrapped up in foil” and Pepper “who thinks she’s some man’s son.” “Here
they come now / See them run now . . . Chelsea Girls.”
Nico herself hated the track, as she did the whole album, because of the flute
and string arrangements by Larry Fallon, added without her knowledge by
producer Tom Wilson, and the lack of drums. As a snapshot of the hedonistic,
nihilistic denizens of Sixties New York, though, “Chelsea Girls” is unbeatable.
SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“For What It’s Worth” was an antiestablishment anthem for a significant period
of youth unrest in the mid-to late Sixties. West Coast group Buffalo Springfield
boasted two songwriters who would go on to play lengthy roles in the
development of U.S. rock music: Neil Young and Stephen Stills. The latter’s
timely protest song captured the emerging spirit of teenage independence and
briefly catapulted the group to commercial success. The Springfield’s only major
hit, it peaked at No. 7 and stayed for fifteen weeks on the Billboard Hot 100.
A simple, chiming guitar figure undercuts a song describing confrontations
between police and teenagers that took place in 1966 on West Hollywood’s
Sunset Boulevard. Hundreds of hippies would congregate on the sidewalks
outside popular clubs Pandora’s Box and The Whisky A Go-Go, prompting
agitated local businessmen to enlist the help of the L.A. police to clean up the
place. The resulting riots, beatings, and arrests were witnessed by Stephen Stills.
Disturbed, he quickly set about writing an almost journalistic song about “battle
lines being drawn” in an area just a few blocks away from his home.
The line “What a field day for the heat” was a thinly veiled attack on the
police—a sensitive subject for a song back in 1967. More recently, the track has
soundtracked TV and movies ranging from The West Wing to Forrest Gump. DR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Burt Bacharach, Hal David Producer | Phil Ramone Label | Colgems
Album | Casino Royale (1967)
The James Bond spoof Casino Royale is now best remembered for this classic
song. Hired to compose an instrumental soundtrack that would be dominated by
Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass, Burt Bacharach became obsessed with a scene in
which Ursula Andress seduces Peter Sellers. He wrote a theme, but it wasn’t
until Hal David decided to add lyrics to this lightest of bossa novas that “The
Look of Love” started to take shape.
As a fan of Dusty Springfield’s interpretations of his songs, Bacharach
already knew whom he wanted to sing it, but—foreshadowing her Memphis
recordings with Jerry Wexler—sessions were tense: both were perfectionists,
though from different perspectives, and this turned out to be the only song they
ever recorded together. Even once Bacharach was satisfied and the album
released, Springfield’s doubts remained. She returned to London and her regular
producer, Johnny Franz, to record it one more time, a shorter version on which
she sounds more confident.
With the film a financial success, there was considerable demand for the
song, yet the second version was only released as the B-side to “Give Me Time.”
Several covers were released, most idiosyncratically by Nina Simone. Then DJs
discovered Dusty’s version and it finally received a slice of the recognition it
deserved, including a nomination for an Academy Award. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Etta James was a constant presence on the U.S. singles charts in the early
Sixties, thanks to such hits as “Trust in Me” and the song that became her
signature, “At Last.” Her career derailed mid-decade, however, as she battled
heroin addiction and spent time in a psychiatric hospital.
In 1967, James was in need of a comeback. On the recommendation of
Leonard Chess, who had originally groomed James into star material, she
journeyed to Muscle Shoals, Alabama, to begin recording her seventh album,
Tell Mama. It would be one of James’s finest, featuring a stirring cover of Otis
Redding’s “Security” and the heartbreaking love song “I’d Rather Go Blind,”
comprising just two chords, which has only grown more devastatingly beautiful
through the years. Indeed, “I’d Rather Go Blind” has aged at least as well as “At
Last”—perhaps better, since it is not weighed down by as much nostalgia. The
song is the musical equivalent of an open wound. James sounds like a woman
tilting toward the abyss, trying, quite unsuccessfully, to accept that her man is
leaving. “I’d rather go blind, boy,” she pleads, “Than to see you walk away from
me.”
Originally released as the B-side to “Tell Mama,” the song was not a hit. It
did, however, factor into the popularity of the parent album (James’s first U.S.
Top 100 hit in seven years) and greatly aided the vocalist’s comeback. JiH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
If there is one song that expresses the pure, giddy joy of being in love, it is this
exuberant classic by Jackie Wilson. In the mid-Sixties, hoping to revive his
career after a slump in his fortunes, Wilson had decided to work with Chicago
soul producer Carl Davis. Unfortunately, their defining collaboration did not
seem set to begin smoothly, because Wilson apparently considered “(Your Love
Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher” a ballad.
“We went into the studio, and Jackie started singing it, and it was completely
different from what I thought it should sound like,” Davis later recalled. “And I
told him, ‘No, no, no, no. I don’t like that!’” Frustrated, Wilson reportedly
suggested Davis come out and show him how it should be done. Demonstration
over, Wilson “went back in there and in one take he did it,” according to Davis.
And the result appears to come from the heart, with Wilson’s voice cracking:
he can barely believe his old friend disappointment will never be showing his
face again, now he’s found his “one in a million girls.” Alongside him, Motown
house band The Funk Brothers provide a pacy and ecstatic turn.
The single would reach No. 1 in the U.S. R&B chart and make the regular
Top Ten, but Wilson largely failed to capitalize on the success. However, “(Your
Love Keeps Lifting Me) Higher and Higher” was to reveal its lingering power
by bringing the Statue of Liberty to life in the 1989 movie Ghostbusters II. MH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
White Rabbit
Jefferson Airplane (1967)
“We found that you could either get married and live in a suburb . . .
or you could live like Alice B. Toklas, Picasso, or Diaghilev.”
Grace Slick, 2002
When asked how she wrote “White Rabbit”—her most famous song—Grace
Slick darted back, deadpan: “How? With pencil and paper.”
Inspired by Miles Davis’s Sketches of Spain and Ravel’s Boléro, Slick’s
paradoxical bedtime story had grown wings in one of her previous outfits, The
Great Society. A wry reflection on the hallucinatory effects of psychedelic
drugs, “White Rabbit” drew on the fantastical narrative of Lewis Carroll’s 1865
odyssey Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, referencing several of its characters,
including Alice, the caterpillar, the White Knight, the Red Queen, and the
Dormouse, while simultaneously inventing a catchphrase for her generation with
the bellowed “Feed your head!”—though Slick insisted “It also means you gotta
feed your brains.”
By the time of Jefferson Airplane’s recording on November 3, 1966, the
tempo had been slowed down and the ornamentation stripped to restore Slick’s
core bolero rhythm. Jack Casady added his funky bass line, Spencer Dryden
snake-hipped the Spanish rhythm, Jorma Kaukonen played guitar-aggressor, and
Slick commanded with her strident vocals. It was a winning mix, giving the band
their second Top Ten hit (despite the lyrics, it was not banned), after “Somebody
to Love,” also drawn from Surrealistic Pillow. “White Rabbit” rapidly became
an anthem for a generation, its prediction of the Sixties psychedelic comedown
presented with razor-sharp subversion.
The song has maintained its presence in popular culture down the years,
featuring in Oliver Stone’s movie Platoon, Hunter S. Thompson’s book Fear
and Loathing in Las Vegas (in a scene portraying Dr. Gonzo’s bad acid trip), and
no fewer than three episodes of The Simpsons. KL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Purple Haze
The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1967)
“Man, in this life, you gotta do what you want, you gotta let your
mind and fancy flow, flow, flow free.”
Jimi Hendrix, 1968
In the digitally crisp, metal-friendly modern era, it is hard to imagine the outcry
caused by the first overdriven electric guitars—but James Marshall Hendrix, the
first musician to take effects such as distortion to their maximum limits, was
rightly hailed as a pioneer when he emerged from the R&B session scene with
songs such as this (a non-album U.K. single, though it was included on the U.S.
version of the Are You Experienced LP). Opening with a heavily overdriven and
dissonant riff based on a tritone (the diminished fifth or diabolus in musica, an
interval actually regarded as evil in medieval times), “Purple Haze” sounds
intimidating to this day. Imagine its impact in the Summer of Love—and all that
before the song even finishes its intro. . . .
In “Purple Haze,” the then-twenty-five-year-old Hendrix made a deliberately
opaque reference to the psychedelic drugs that were transforming the cutting
edge of popular culture at the time. Too obscure for The Man to decipher, but
manna from heaven to Hendrix’s growing army of “heads,” his words tell of
confusion among a lysergic fog—although, tellingly, he doesn’t express a desire
to emerge from it. Backing his words up with searing guitar solos, Hendrix
paints a picture of total chaos, a heaven or hell in which there are no parameters.
“’Scuse me while I kiss the sky!” he asks, sounding like a prophet or demon in
doing so.
“Purple Haze” has entered the international vocabulary as a synonym for a
state of flux, but the song’s intention is anything but unclear: with this track,
Hendrix implied that an altered state of consciousness was a prerequisite for
those who wished to see the world as he did. Few mission statements are more
compelling. JMc
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
I’m a Man
The Spencer Davis Group (1967)
The Spencer Davis Group was one of many fine Sixties British blues groups, but
what distinguished them from their peers was their precocious lead vocalist,
Steve Winwood. Discovered by guitarist Spencer Davis playing piano in his
older brother Muff’s jazz-and-blues band in Birmingham when he was only
fifteen, Winwood (like his brother) joined the guitarist’s group in 1963.
Encouraged by their 1966 hit “Keep on Running,” Winwood started to write
his own material while the band enlisted future Rolling Stones producer Jimmy
Miller to upgrade their sound. Their first collaboration, “Gimme Some Lovin’,”
was quickly followed by “I’m a Man,” which reached No. 9 in the U.K. and No.
10 in the U.S. in January 1967. Winwood was still just eighteen. The song—
unrelated to Bo Diddley’s of the same name—is an urgent slice of R&B.
Powered along by Pete York’s drums, brother Muff’s insistent bass, and Davis’s
rhythm guitar, with producer Miller on sizzling percussion and Winwood
playing both lead guitar and Hammond B-3 organ, the song showcases
Winwood’s distinctive Ray Charles–influenced high tenor voice.
Singing behind Winwood were vocalists Jim Capaldi, Dave Mason, and
Chris Wood. Within three months of the song’s success, Winwood announced he
was leaving Spencer Davis and joining the three to form his own group, Traffic.
SA See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Venus in Furs
The Velvet Underground (1967)
Despite the credit on the cover, The Velvet Underground and Nico was not so
much produced by Andy Warhol as facilitated by him. Warhol had taken the
band under his wing at the end of 1965 after seeing them play at an East Village
bar called Café Bizarre, and went on to fund the recording of the group’s debut
album after insisting that they use foghorn-voiced German actress Nico as a
guest singer. According to Lou Reed, Warhol also served as the group’s
“protector,” his influence frightening studio engineers and label executives away
from requesting changes. Given both the sound of the record and the subject
matter of its songs, Warhol’s help was indispensable.
“Venus in Furs” was inspired by an apparently autobiographical book of the
same title by nineteenth-century Austrian author Leopold von Sacher-Masoch,
whose name later led to the coining of the word masochism. The song is a
microcosm of the album’s aesthetic: a dark lyric; a simple, memorable melody,
almost a minor-key nursery rhyme; and an abrasive, dirgelike backdrop. John
Cale’s shrieking viola added color to Maureen Tucker’s frill-free drumming and
Reed’s droning guitar (all six strings were tuned to the same note).
The album was greeted by indifference on its original release, but, as Brian
Eno quipped, everyone who heard The Velvet Underground and Nico went off
and formed a band. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Fire
The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1967)
It may seem tasteless to reference the sex tapes leaked onto the Internet in 2008,
which revealed the late Jimi Hendrix spending quality time with female friends,
but in the context of “Fire,” doing so is entirely relevant. Although Jimi had
written many lyrics urging his listeners to expand their minds via tuning in,
turning on, and dropping out, he wasn’t averse to exhorting them to indulge in
more carnal pleasures too—and when he sang “I have only one burning desire /
Let me stand next to your fire,” his intentions were clear.
In a sense, “Fire” owes more of a debt to Jimi’s past as an R&B session man
than to any of his solo work. The subject matter is funky, hot, and obvious, with
many a precedent in the Thirties blues songbook (remember Robert Johnson
singing “Squeeze my lemon till the juice run down my leg”) and no one is taking
themselves too seriously. Jimi isn’t in prophet mode here: he’s more interested
in getting down-and-dirty by the fireside. He asks “Rover” to move over first, a
reference to Hendrix attempting to warm himself by the fire with his girlfriend at
the house of bassist Noel Redding’s mother, where her Great Dane dog was in
the way. A generation was in accord.
“Fire” remains one of Hendrix’s most popular songs: it’s fast (drummer
Mitch Mitchell is on brilliant form), funny, and debauched in a way that many of
his contemporaries’ songs rarely were. As always, his guitar work is exemplary:
listen to the solo, and to this day you can hear how much fun he was having. The
Experience often opened their live gigs with this song. No wonder that the Red
Hot Chili Peppers, one of the most testosterone-laden bands ever formed,
covered it so memorably a couple of decades after its writer’s death. JMc
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Waterloo Sunset
The Kinks (1967)
“I’ve never worked with a song that has been a total pleasure from
beginning to end like that one.”
Ray Davies, 1984
Ray Davies, the lead singer, rhythm guitarist, and principal songwriter of The
Kinks, had originally intended to write a song called “Liverpool Sunset” about
the death of Merseybeat, but he decided that, as a Londoner, he should write
about his home city instead.
The song was very personal to Davies, and the Waterloo area held special
significance for him. He had been a patient in St. Thomas’s Hospital in Waterloo
in his early teens undergoing a tracheotomy, and, while recovering, the nurses
had wheeled him on to the hospital’s balcony where he could look at the Thames
—the “dirty old river” of the song. Davies had also traveled daily through
Waterloo as an art student on the way to Croydon Art School and walked along
the Embankment with his first wife, Rasa, when they were courting.
In the song, the solitary outsider narrating watches a couple—“Terry and
Julie”—meet at Waterloo railway station, cross the river via Waterloo Bridge to
north London, happy in their own private bubble. The singer is wistful (“But I
don’t need no friends”), finding an inner contentment in the ambience of sunset
over the London skyline. Terry and Julie are often presumed to be the British
actors Terence Stamp and Julie Christie, who starred in Far from the Madding
Crowd together in 1967, but Davies denies any specifics, stating that the couple
are imaginary young innocents wrapped up in each other at the start of a
romance—although the name Terry was also that of Ray’s nephew in Australia.
Reaching No. 2 in the U.K. charts in the summer of 1967, “Waterloo Sunset”
is Davies’s finest composition: a beautiful, melancholy yet warm, evocation of
twilight London. JoH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Having begun her career as a variety singer in the casinos of Las Vegas and the
country clubs of Beverly Hills, Bobbie Gentry returned to her humble
Chickasaw County, Mississippi, roots for her Capitol Records debut single.
Having had “Mississippi Delta” selected for her as the A-side, the singer offered
the self-penned “Ode to Billie Joe” for the flip. The latter proved so popular it
was decided to go with this as the single. A wise move: it garnered eight
Grammy nominations, made No. 1 on Billboard, and was an international smash.
The song tells the tale of the eponymous Billie Joe McAllister, the boyfriend
of the narrator, who has committed suicide for unknown reasons. The
combination of the mysterious nature of the death and the narrator’s matter-of-
fact reaction as she and her family learn of the event over dinner sets a haunting
tone for the song. The odd atmosphere is stressed by the stark arrangement of
strings, and Gentry’s plain, nylon-string guitar. Writer Herman Raucher was
later commissioned to compose both a novel and a film script based on “Ode . . .
.”
There’s more mystery in the line in which Billie Joe and the narrator are seen
throwing something from the Tallahatchie Bridge. In the film version, a ragdoll
is thrown into the waters, and Billie Joe kills himself because he fears he may be
homosexual. These explanations and all others were rejected by Gentry, who
claims the song is entirely fiction. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
James Carr received this song in 1966 from a professional and personal couple
based in Memphis: twenty-five-year-old producer Dan Penn and former Stax
session guitarist Chips Moman, five years Penn’s senior. The song was written
during a break in a poker game at a music industry convention in Nashville. As
Penn told writer Robert Gordon, the duo “were always wanting to come up with
the best cheatin’ song—ever.”
The singer’s ambitions were rather less lofty. Born in Coahoma, Mississippi,
but raised in Memphis, the illiterate James Carr was eking out a living as a
laborer while singing in various gospel groups when he met upstart manager
Roosevelt Jamison in 1962. Jamison shepherded him into a deal with the small
Memphis label Goldwax; one of the first sides he cut for them (secured in two
takes) was this ballad of infidelity, lent grandeur by Carr’s proud, passionate
baritone.
Now seen as a southern-soul classic, “The Dark End of the Street” was one
of several minor hits for Carr. However, hampered by a tragically unstable
personality, the singer never made the major breakthrough his talent deserved,
and was effectively out of the business before the dawn of the Seventies. His
biggest hit, though, has been kept alive by some inferior covers and by Van
Morrison, who incorporated a lyrical tribute in his 1979 single “Bright Side of
the Road.” WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Suzanne
Leonard Cohen (1967)
For Leonard Cohen—poet, future Zen Buddhist monk, and ultimate auteur of
fellatio in popular music—this was the song that started it all. The public were
first introduced to “Suzanne” on 1967’s Songs of Leonard Cohen album, but the
piece was written at the start of the Sixties when Cohen was living in his native
Montreal.
It was here that the singer first met Suzanne Verdal, a beautiful young dancer
married to the sculptor Armand Vaillancourt. Cohen would watch the pair
dancing together in jazz/beat clubs. He met Verdal briefly, but the pair
developed a meaningful spiritual connection several years later when Verdal had
separated from her husband and moved to the St. Lawrence River. Says Verdal:
“Leonard heard about this place I was living, with crooked floors and a poetic
view of the river, and he came to visit me many times. We had tea together many
times and mandarin oranges.”
The song itself is a perfect evocation of those drowsy, sunny days. Over
delicately plucked Spanish guitar, Cohen’s description of Suzanne’s beauty
melts into a wider, flowing contemplation of nature and philosophy—all
delivered in his opiated baritone. For Cohen, the song remains a career favorite.
For Verdal, the song is a bittersweet pleasure: “He became a big star after the
song was launched and he became a songwriter,” she says. “Our relationship did
change with time.” SH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Respect
Aretha Franklin (1967)
You know a song is special when a new category of the Grammy Awards is
created just to give it its dues. Such was the case in 1968, when Aretha Franklin
won the inaugural award for Best Female R&B Vocal Performance for her
burning rendition of Otis Redding’s “Respect.”
A lot of people were in dire need of respect in 1967, not least the twenty-
five-year-old preacher’s daughter herself. The black community was on the
verge of burning down her home city of Detroit, rather than suffer another
indignity at the hands of a racist bureaucracy. Women were beginning to apply
the goals of the civil rights movement in their uphill struggle for social equality.
And the spectacularly talented Franklin was struggling to resuscitate her career
at Atlantic after several stagnant years with Columbia Records. She had been
raised on gospel before wandering into jazz, and new producer Jerry Wexler
now wanted her to preach. In two and a half minutes, the soon-tobe-queen of
soul would make all of their cases.
Before recording the song, Franklin and her sister, Carolyn, reset its beat and
wrote new vocal arrangements, including the iconic spelling out of the title. It
wasn’t just a rhythmic device. Without plain R-E-S-P-E-C-T, there would be no
lovin’. Franklin sang with a devastating mix of clarity and conviction, making
“respect” into a universal decree of common sense. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Scott Walker had recorded a handful of his own songs with The Walker
Brothers, but one look at the track listing for the trio’s third album, Images,
explains why Walker pulled the plug. Among the highlights is “Orpheus,” a
ballad written by Walker (under his real name, Scott Engel) that offered a
foretaste of the singer’s later classic “Plastic Palace People.” Yet this gem was
sandwiched between a soporific cover of Fats Domino’s “Blueberry Hill” and a
wan reading of Ben E. King’s “Stand by Me.”
By then in the grip of an obsession with Belgian balladeer Jacques Brel,
Walker had little time for such compromises. Leaving behind his bandmates
(none of whom was related), he set out on a solo career, taking Walker Brothers
producer John Franz with him. The first track on Scott, his solo debut, was a
rollicking cover of Brel’s “Mathilde.” The second was this powerful, cinematic
piece of storytelling, with Walker’s charismatic vocal and imagery-rich lyric
(“The window sees trees cry from cold / And claw the moon”) wedded to a
pungent orchestral score from Wally Stott.
The public initially took Walker’s solo career to their hearts, with his first
three albums all making the U.K. Top Three. The dark, elusive Scott 4 and the
disjointed ’Til the Band Comes In failed to chart, though, and it was only with
the Walker Brothers’ reunion LP, Nite Flights (1978), that Walker again
triumphed as a unique experimental artist. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper’s was teamwork personified. For the album’s dizzying
closer, McCartney supplied the middle eight, but Lennon’s lyrics dominate. An
avid media consumer, his inspiration came partly from newspapers—the “lucky
man who made the grade” may have been inspired by a report about ill-fated
Guinness heir Tara Browne. The Daily Mail’s “Far & Near” column famously
supplied the line about holes in Blackburn, Lancashire, and Lennon’s recent role
in Richard Lester’s satirical How I Won the War emerges, too. In the line “I’d
love to turn you on,” for the first time the duo deliberately sent their fans a pro-
drugs message. (The BBC certainly got it: they banned the song.)
McCartney’s burgeoning interest in avant-garde composers such as
Stockhausen and Luciano Berio inspired him to suggest the song’s famous
orchestral “surges”—in which each player took his instrument through every
note from lowest to highest, over twenty-four bars. The result, scored by George
Martin for a forty-piece orchestra, was described by Lennon as “a sound
building up from nothing to the end of the world” and, more pithily, by George
Martin as an “orchestral orgasm.”
Jaw-droppingly original in conception, with superb ensemble playing
throughout (Starr’s subtle, jazz-inflected drumming is a dream), and a
beautifully judged Lennon vocal, “A Day in the Life” might just be pop’s best-
ever collaboration. RD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Alone Again Or
Love (1967)
Few songs define the noir pallor of Sixties psychedelia as intensely as “Alone
Again Or.” Originally entitled “Alone Again”—the mysterious “Or” was added
by the band’s wayward leader, Arthur Lee—and intended for Love’s debut self-
titled 1966 debut album, Bryan MacLean’s ode to his faraway girlfriend wasn’t
completed until the recording of Forever Changes, in the summer of 1967. The
track’s cult status owes much to the wistful mariachi-horn part halfway through
that peppers the original string arrangement alongside MacLean’s bleak
conclusion: “And I will be alone again tonight, my dear.” (MacLean later
commented: “That was the happiest I ever was with anything we ever did as a
band.”)
However, the track famously caused rifts between band members when
MacLean’s own vocals were remixed and replaced with band mate Arthur Lee’s
harmony vocal, on the grounds that his original lead was “too weak.” MacLean
eventually admitted that his voice had not been quite strong enough to hold the
tune, and he later readdressed the matter by singing a solo version of the track on
his album ifyoubelievein.
Although the song was deemed “inconsistent” by Rolling Stone on its release
as a single in 1968—when it reached only No. 99 in the U.S. Billboard chart—
this beguiling track soon grew in cult status, becoming regarded as a classic
expression of its psychedelic times.
“Alone Again Or” has featured in many movies, including the cult classic
Sleepers (1996). It has been covered by artists as diverse as The Boo Radleys,
Calexico, UFO, and Matthew Sweet with Susanna Hoffs. “We love love, man!”
remarked the latter duo. “And we mean the group, too!” KL
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Tin Soldier
The Small Faces (1967)
“It refers to a girl [Jenny Rylance] I used to talk to all the time and
she really gave me a buzz.”
Steve Marriott, 1967
Influenced by: Little Girl • John Mayall & The Bluesbreakers (1966)
Influence on: Would You Believe • Billy Nicholls (1968)
Covered by: Quiet Riot (1977) • The Hypstrz (1979) • Todd
Rundgren (1983)
Written in Ibiza by Steve Marriott in a bid to impress the woman who would a
year later become his wife, “Tin Soldier” was never intended to be a song for
The Small Faces. The Immediate label fostered a culture of sharing, and so the
writer presented the song to Pat (P. P.) Arnold, a former backing singer for the
Ike & Tina Turner Revue, who had made her home in London. As Marriott later
remembered it, “She freaked, so I thought I’d better hold back.” Keeping it for
the band, he gave her a song with similar power, “(If You Think You’re)
Groovy,” instead. The band played on her record, she sang on theirs.
Released in December 1967, “Tin Soldier” arrived at a time when the east
London quartet could do little wrong. The third of the five Immediate singles
released while the band were together, it sits between “Itchycoo Park” and “Lazy
Sunday,” but would almost certainly win any poll designed to identify their
finest work. After the pop psychedelia of the previous year, the song was a
return to their mod-soul origins, yet it represented a great leap forward for the
band as writers, musicians, and recording artists after the water-treading of their
second album.
An early instrumental version reveals all the acoustic guitars that had
originally been intended to carry the song, but the finished result was to be a
significant influence on the heavy-rock scene that emerged in 1968. The song is
a headbanger’s delight, with Ronnie Lane playing bass in both rhythm and lead
roles while Kenney Jones’s percussion—which includes tin-drum effects—
pulverizes the backing track. And Marriott’s singing? It was time to put away
childish things: at 1:35 in, the rock era began in earnest. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Keith Reid, Gary Brooker, Matthew Fisher Producer | Denny Cordell
Label | Deram
Album | Procol Harum (1967, U.S.)
Indecipherable lyrics and lawsuits make “A Whiter Shade of Pale” one of pop’s
most enigmatic and enduring creations. During the technicolor, kaftan-wearing
summer of 1967, this pop-meets-the-classics single remained top of the British
singles chart for six psychedelic weeks.
Procol Harum was created to record the songs of lyricist Keith Reid and
vocalist/keyboard player Gary Brooker. “A Whiter Shade of Pale” was the
surprise hit of the year for the newly formed group. The complex song combined
a somber, Bach-like organ melody with the most surreal lyrics ever to grace a
pop song. Tripping “the light fandango” and featuring vestal virgins, a tale-
telling miller, and a ceiling that “flew away,” no one could quite make sense of
it, least of all the record label. Doubts as to whether it should even be released at
all were swept aside once a test pressing found its way to pirate radio station
Radio London, anchored off Britain’s east coast. Rush-released by public
demand, the single took just three weeks to make U.K. No. 1. (As was standard
practice, the song was omitted from the 1967 U.K. album Procol Harum, but
made the cut for the U.S. version.) Inspiration for the song’s title came courtesy
of a remark overheard by Keith Reid at a party. Reid’s friend, disc-jockey-
turned-producer Guy Stevens, turned to his wife and observed, “My God, you’ve
just turned a whiter shade of pale.” DR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
When Stevie Wonder set off for the Motown Christmas party of 1966, he took
with him some music to which he had been unable to fit any words. Smokey
Robinson remarked on its circus feel, and this triggered memories of the lonely
clown who has to keep his audiences smiling. (Robinson had written the line
“Just like Pagliacci did, I’ll try to keep my sadness hid” for the song “My Smile
Is Just a Frown.”) The Miracles recorded the result, releasing it on their 1967
LP, Make It Happen.
Three years later, Smokey himself had become a forlorn figure; tired of life
on the road, on a break from recording, he wanted to split from the group and
spend more time at home with his young family. Then news came in from
Britain: the long-forgotten song had been released as a single (thanks to the
enthusiasm of a secretary at EMI, the label that released Motown material there)
and hit No. 1. The Detroit office was skeptical but took the cut, slowed it down,
and overdubbed a drum track that gave the song more drive. On December 12—
three months after hitting No. 1 in Britain—it replaced The Partridge Family in
the U.S. No. 1 slot.
So what was it Detroit had missed in 1967? The interplay between bassoon
and flute that gives the song its irresistible “circus” feel? One of Smokey’s finest
lyrics? The peerless backing vocals? Who knows—but EMI’s Karen Spreadbury
deserved a hefty Christmas bonus that year. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Eric Clapton, Jack Bruce, Pete Brown Producer | Felix Pappalardi
Label | Reaction
Album | Disraeli Gears (1967)
By the standards of 1967, Cream were the ultimate fusion of styles, combining a
mastery of the decades-old blues idiom with the most modern jazz departures
and a psychedelic rock tinge of their very own. It is fitting that “Sunshine of
Your Love” should be so fêted all these years later, therefore, because it too
epitomizes this synthesis of new and old. It is both simple and complex; many a
guitarist will recall learning Eric Clapton’s descending ten-note guitar riff in
their very earliest lessons. In the hands of Cream admirers such as a certain Jimi
Hendrix, however, the song evolved into a riff-storm of enormous power.
Like all the best compositions, the lyrics (in this case, from the pen of
longtime Cream collaborator Pete Brown) do not have to make grammatical
sense. Jack Bruce singing “It’s getting near dawn” takes the listener back to the
first electric blues, the words’ voodoo charm diminished not a jot by the fact that
the singer—a Royal College–educated jazz master—was culturally about as far
from the bayou as could be. The song is strongly emotive, with the narrator—
evoking the “tired eyes” of night—taking us to a place where only the object of
his desire matters. Smart despite its lovelorn tones, modern despite its ancient
roots, “Sunshine of Your Love” was, and remains, a statement encapsulating
both the vibe of its era and the talents of its creators. JMc See all songs from the
1960s
1960s
Cold Sweat
James Brown & The Famous Flames (1967)
Writer | James Brown, Alfred Ellis Producer | James Brown Label | King
Album | Cold Sweat (1967)
In 1966, James Brown & The Famous Flames played a concert in Abidjan, the
capital of Ivory Coast. The effect it had on the West African music scene was
electric, sparking the careers of, among others, Fela Kuti, who was soon to claim
JB was playing his songs. Just how much influence polyrhythmic African music
had on Brown can be measured by the direction he took in January 1967, with
the recording of “Let Yourself Go,” the first tentative step toward the pure
groove (and away from melody) that Brown had been searching for.
Recorded four months later, “Cold Sweat,” a two-part single and seven-
minute LP cut, was a collaboration between Brown and Alfred “Pee Wee” Ellis,
his bandleader and alto-sax player. It is little more than a jam session: the lyrics
are rudimentary, as if Brown is admitting that the song is entirely about the
percussive feel of all the instruments, specifically the interplay between Clyde
Stubblefield’s much-sampled drums, Maceo Parker’s tenor, and Bernard Odum’s
bass. Typically, Brown’s exhortations are now more famous than the solo
breaks: “Maceo, come on now, brother. Put it where it’s at” and “Give the
drummer some.”
An R&B No. 1 and a pop No. 7, “Cold Sweat” set Brown on a course that
would take him through the next seven years, until his historic concerts in Zaire,
in 1974. More importantly, the track revolutionized black music on two
continents. DH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
During her first visit to the United Kingdom—touring in support of The Rolling
Stones as a member of Ike and Tina Turner’s backing band The Ikettes—P. P.
Arnold’s talent was noted by Mick Jagger. Impressed, the Stones’ front man
promptly advised his manager, Andrew Loog Oldham, to sign her to his new
Immediate label.
Working with musicians such as Keith Emerson of The Nice, and Ronnie
Lane and Steve Marriott of The Small Faces, Arnold began developing new
material from a number of writers. Following her debut with Oldham’s own
“Everything’s Gonna Be Alright,” she went on to score her biggest hit with the
Cat Stevens–penned “The First Cut Is the Deepest,” a poignant tale of a
heartbroken woman trying to give love another chance. Stevens had written the
song early in his career while trying to establish himself as a songwriter for hire.
On the back of a demo recording he made, the song was sold on to Immediate
for P. P. Arnold for £30 and was released in May of 1967. Later that year,
Stevens included the track on his own New Masters album, though he didn’t
release it as a single, as he felt Arnold’s cover was the definitive recording.
The rousing, up-tempo Arnold version, recorded by Mike Hurst (a former
member of The Springfields), featured string and horn sections alongside a harp.
Listen closely and you can hear echoes of both the dense layering of Phil
Spector’s “wall of sound” productions and the idiosyncratic touches that British
R&B groups were developing as they moved into more psychedelic territories in
the late Sixties.
The song achieved modest chart success (peaking at No. 18 in the U.K.), but
it marked the beginning of a recognizable British soul scene. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“Y’know the one that sticks out the most—maybe because she made
the song better—was Aretha’s record.”
Burt Bacharach, 1996
The Snake
Al Wilson (1968)
Taking his cue from one of Aesop’s fables, the radical jazzman Oscar Brown Jr.
composed “The Snake” for his 1962 album Oscar Brown Jr. Tells It Like It Is.
Its narrative is a parable about trust: a tender woman takes a frozen serpent into
the warmth of her care—a scenario that would cause both Sigmund Freud and
John Milton to nod in recognition—and, after nursing it back to health, receives
a poisonous bite. “‘Oh shut up, silly woman!’ said that reptile with a grin. / Now
you knew darn well I was a snake before you brought me in.’”
Brown’s original was a subtle bossa nova, but in the hands of Al Wilson it
became a four-to-the-floor stomper. Marty Paich’s horn arrangement is quite
simply one of the most exciting ever recorded; with each successive verse, the
brass stabs become more and more manic, reflecting the drama of the narrative.
The impressive extended drum fills, which slither from the right speaker to the
left, were played by Hal Blaine on a full-octave kit with twelve drums rather
than the usual five.
Wilson revels in the theatricality of it all, hissing his fricatives when playing
the snake and adopting a comical squawk when he voices the hapless woman.
(The backing singers get in on the act, too, with a kitschy “Ooooh!” at the
moment of the bite.) “The Snake” was a guaranteed floor-filler, in particular for
the large-trousered fans of Northern-soul in Seventies Britain. SP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Oh Happy Day
The Edwin Hawkins Singers (1968)
When the forty-six-strong Northern California State Youth Choir needed funds
for a trip to Washington, D.C., to attend a youth congress in 1968, they
commissioned Century Record Productions to make a live recording of one of
their performances. From those basic two-track tapes, eight songs (including the
original version of “Oh Happy Day”) were chosen for an album, and just five
hundred copies were pressed.
Later, copies were circulated in the community. A DJ on San Francisco’s
underground radio station KSAN-FM began playing “Oh Happy Day,” and other
stations soon picked up on it. This attracted the attention of Buddah Records’
Neil Bogart, who bought the national distribution rights, re-released the album
(on Pavilion), issued “Oh Happy Day” as a single, and renamed the group The
Edwin Hawkins Singers, after the choir leader.
With a simple backing of piano, drums, bass, and a chorus that included
future gospel star Tramaine Hawkins, the soulful lead vocals were by Dorothy
Coombs Morrison. She immediately launched a solo career on the back of the
success of the single, which eventually sold seven million copies worldwide and
earned Hawkins the first of four Grammys. “Oh Happy Day” has been covered
by numerous artists, most notably Joan Baez, Glen Campbell, Aretha Franklin
(in a duet with Mavis Staples), and Queen Latifah. JLu
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Israelites
Desmond Dekker & The Aces (1968)
With “Israelites,” Desmond Dekker became the first Jamaican artist to achieve
truly international popularity. More importantly, the record paved the way for
other ska and reggae acts to follow.
Dekker’s single “007 (Shanty Town)” had begun to win him a fan base in
England, but it seemed ska would remain strictly a Caribbean/ English
phenomenon until “Israelites” achieved the seemingly impossible. Rising
through the charts on both sides of the Atlantic, it reached No. 1 in Britain, the
Netherlands, West Germany, Sweden, and Canada, and No. 9 on the Billboard
Hot 100. The feat was all the more remarkable given that very few listeners
understood the lyrics: Dekker’s words not only included some obscure cultural
references (it was originally titled “Poor Me Israelite”), but were also delivered
in an accent impenetrable to most non-Jamaicans.
Unfortunately, having opened up the U.S. and European markets for West
Indian music, Dekker never matched the success of “Israelites,” even in his
adopted home of Britain, though he maintained a steady following in Jamaica
through the Seventies. His best-known song has retained its popularity, however,
again reaching the U.K. Top Ten on its re-release in 1975. It was covered by
Swedish punks Millencolin in 1997 and by beloved London ska institution
Madness on the album The Dangermen Sessions Vol. 1 in 2005. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Wichita Lineman
Glen Campbell (1968)
Jimmy Webb still remembers the phone call. “Glen’s looking for a follow-up for
‘By the Time I Get to Phoenix,’” relayed the A&R man, “but it’s got to be a
place.” Just twenty-one at the time, Webb wasn’t interested at first, but had a
crack at it regardless, mapping a song around a memory he held of telephone
engineers working on the wires around the town of Liberal, Kansas, and the
Oklahoma panhandle. He sent in the sketch with the caveat that it wasn’t
finished. Producer Al De Lory, whose uncle worked as a lineman in California,
disagreed.
At the time, Campbell’s solo career had only just taken flight, nearly a
decade after his first single. The singer had spent the years making a living as a
guitarist for hire, a key part of L.A.’s famous Wrecking Crew of session
musicians. De Lory enlisted many members of the Wrecking Crew to work on
the song, later adding his own Morse code–mimicking string arrangement and
the otherworldly tinkle of Webb’s Gulbransen organ.
Since becoming Campbell’s biggest hit, “Wichita Lineman” has been
covered by artists as varied as The Fatback Band and R.E.M. Webb himself
recorded it in the Nineties, despite confessing that his pairing of “time” and
“line” in the chorus makes him flinch; he’s described it, perhaps harshly, as “the
biggest, awfullest, dumbest, most obvious false rhyme in history.” WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Motown boss Berry Gordy usually had a pretty good instinct for a hit, but he
nearly missed the boat on this one. Several recordings of “I Heard It through the
Grapevine” were rejected by Gordy in 1966 and 1967: the original by Smokey
Robinson & The Miracles, a much-rumored, never-heard cover by The Isley
Brothers, and a slower version by Marvin Gaye. In late 1967, producer Norman
Whitfield talked Gordy into releasing a reading by Gladys Knight & The Pips,
which climbed to the U.S. No. 2 spot. But it wasn’t until August 1968, nearly
eighteen months after it was recorded, that Gaye’s version emerged, bolted onto
his album In the Groove by Whitfield against Gordy’s wishes.
It would have sat there unnoticed were it not for the reaction of DJs in the
United States. Knight’s dance-floor stomper was still fresh in listeners’
memories, but Gaye’s slower recording, both statelier and more impassioned,
took flight in a way that Knight’s never had, despite its high charting. Eventually
released as a single in October 1968, Gaye’s version spent a combined ten weeks
at the top of the U.S. and U.K. charts, becoming Motown’s best-selling single at
the time.
The song returned to the U.K. charts in 1986 on the back of a Levi’s ad in
which Nick Kamen stripped to his underwear in a laundromat while a re-
recording played in the background—the budget didn’t stretch to Gaye’s
original. WF-J
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
America
Simon & Garfunkel (1968)
Writer | Paul Simon Producer | Roy Halee, Simon & Garfunkel Label |
Columbia
Album | Bookends (1968)
“This song explains why I’m leaving home to become a stewardess,” says Zooey
Deschanel, her eyes gravid with sorrow and anger, as she cues up the needle in
Cameron Crowe’s movie Almost Famous (2000). It is a bravura piece of
filmmaking—halting the narrative while we listen to a record—and one that
would not work without a soundtrack as nuanced and as effortlessly beautiful as
“America.” From the gently hummed harmonies at the outset, it builds steadily
to take in folk-rock guitar, subdued pipe organ, and triumphant jazz fills from
prolific session drummer Hal Blaine.
Thematically, the track resembles the road songs of Chuck Berry seen
through the prism of Jack Kerouac. Berry’s easy, conversational style is adapted
to non-rhyming couplets replete with references to cigarettes and the Greyhound
bus, as the narrator travels from Saginaw, Michigan, to New York with his
girlfriend, Kathy (presumably Simon’s muse Kathy Chitty, seen on the cover of
his 1965 solo LP, The Paul Simon Songbook). Over just three minutes and 650
miles, youthful optimism congeals into alienation, culminating in the fraught
“I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why.” At this, the song changes gear,
the orchestration swelling as the focus pulls back to show countless thousands of
travelers on the New Jersey Turnpike, with the peaks of Manhattan like an
Emerald City on the horizon. SP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“Now that my people have decided to take over the world . . . I’m
going to have to do my part.”
Nina Simone, 1969
The year 1968 saw the opening of the rock musical Hair—a key statement of the
1960s hippie counter-culture, with its message of peace and love, freedom, and
drugs—on Broadway and in the West End of London. It was also the year in
which Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, in April. Three days later, Nina
Simone appeared at Westbury Music Fair and dedicated her performance that
day to his memory; a recording of the show formed the basis for the album ’Nuff
Said! “I was desperate to be accepted by the civil rights leaders, and when I was,
I gave them ten years of singing protest songs,” she said in 1991.
Also on the album were three studio tracks recorded a month later, including
a medley of two songs from Hair, “Ain’t Got No” and “I Got Life.” In the
musical, these appeared as a rock protest anthem and its feel-good response,
performed by “the tribe” of hippies in their quest for a drug-induced utopia. Like
most numbers from Hair, it could easily have been soon forgotten. Its inclusion
on the serious-minded ’Nuff Said! is, on the face of it, surprising, but in
Simone’s hands the call for freedom takes on a harder-edged civil rights tone in
keeping with the other tracks, while still managing to retain the upbeat mood of
the original.
“Ain’t Got No; I Got Life” was also something of a departure from Simone’s
usual jazz, gospel, and blues repertoire, appealing more to pop audiences. When
released as a single, it became one of her biggest hits and reached a wider,
younger audience than she was used to, especially in Europe: it reached No. 1 in
the Netherlands, and No. 2 in the British charts. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Piece of My Heart
Big Brother & The Holding Company (1968)
Writer | James Brown, Alfred Ellis Producer | James Brown Label | King
Album | Say it Loud—I’m Black and I’m Proud (1969)
Hard to Handle
Otis Redding (1968)
“Hard to Handle” was recorded during sessions in late 1967 that would prove to
be Redding’s last. From those same sessions came “Sittin’ on the Dock of the
Bay,” the unfinished song that would win the singer a posthumous No. 1.
“Dock of the Bay” is often cited as evidence that the singer was moving in a
more reflective, acoustic direction, but “Hard to Handle” refutes such charges.
From its swinging opening piano riff, this is rough, tough R&B dance music.
Redding was celebrated for the tenderness of his recordings—“These Arms of
Mine,” “My Girl,” “I’ve Been Loving You Too Long”—yet he was equally at
home with up-tempo soul numbers where he could boast of his virility. The
opening lyric of “Hard to Handle”—“Hey there, here I am I’m the man on the
scene I can give you what you want / but you got to come home with me”—sets
the scene for two minutes and twenty seconds of stud swagger.
Superbly backed by Steve Cropper (guitar), Duck Dunn (bass), Al Jackson
(drums), Booker T. Jones (piano), and The Memphis Horns, Otis’s fierce vocal
roars through “Hard to Handle.” The 1968 single is among Redding’s most
dynamic recordings, though it reached only No. 51 on Billboard’s pop listings
(U.K. No. 15). It has since been covered by numerous rock bands, and Jamaican
singer Toots Hibbert gave the song a lilting reggae makeover. GC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
A minha menina
Os Mutantes (1968)
Fusing a shared love of The Beatles and the psychedelic soul of Sly & The
Family Stone with the traditional sounds of samba and bossa nova, brothers
Arnaldo and Sérgio Dias Baptista and singer Rita Lee formed Os Mutantes (The
Mutants) in 1966. Alongside innovators such as Caetano Veloso and Gilberto
Gil, they formed a new movement christened Tropicália, which influenced art,
poetry, and theater, as well as music, in the days of the military dictatorship in
Brazil.
The group’s infectious, upbeat sound had greater energy and, on the surface
at least, a lighter disposition than the work of Veloso and Gil. “A minha menina”
(literally “This Girl of Mine”) typifies the Mutantes’ sound from the outset, with
nylon-stringed guitar overlaid by fuzz-driven electric guitars, joy-filled vocals,
and chaotic hand-clapping. The song became the focal point of the band’s self-
titled debut album and remains their best-known track, despite limited release as
a single. Its influence is evident with the likes of David Byrne (who has
consistently championed the band with his Luaka Bop label) and Beck, who
named his 1998 album, Mutations, for the band.
More recently, “A minha menina” has been used in a McDonald’s
advertising campaign, and a faithful cover version by The Bees (in English) has
been used extensively in television and independent-film soundtracks. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Following an album entitled Their Satanic Majesties Request with a track called
“Sympathy for the Devil” was a touch paper to the controversy of rock’s original
demonic bad boys. Despite the previous album’s title, no explicit references to
the devil were included therein—in stark contrast to the opening track of the
follow-up. The song prompted religious groups and some in the media to label
the band as devil-worshippers and a corrupting influence on their youthful fans.
Jagger has claimed the lyrics were influenced by French poet Charles
Baudelaire, though the lyrics and themes of the song both bear a strong
resemblance to Mikhail Bulgakov’s novel The Master and Margarita, wherein
the devil appears in person in Russia and claims influence over world affairs.
During the recording sessions for the track, Senator Robert Kennedy was
assassinated, prompting a change in the lyrics to reflect the event. The recording
of the song was captured in Jean-Luc Godard’s film of the same name.
Jagger initially composed the song as a ballad. At the suggestion of Keith
Richards, it evolved into a dark samba rhythm, adding to the sinister, hypnotic
nature of the track. The satanic theme of the song, as well as the Stones’ overall
style and demeanor, became a huge influence, particularly in hard rock and
heavy metal, as it proved that dark, gothic music could be catchy, too. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Pressure Drop
Toots & The Maytals (1968)
In 1967, Frederick “Toots” Hibbert walked out of jail after serving an eighteen-
month sentence for alleged marijuana possession and returned to the studio with
his musical partners, Nathaniel “Jerry” Mathias and Henry “Raleigh” Gordon. In
the years before, the vocal trio had racked up a string of ska and rocksteady hits
in Jamaica. With producers Coxsone Dodd and Prince Buster they had recorded
tracks like “Bam Bam,” twinning bouncing rhythms with Hibbert’s powerful
voice.
The Maytals’ next clutch of songs, though, would propel them into the
international mainstream. Helmed by Leslie Kong, the Chinese-Jamaican reggae
producer who presided over the debut singles of Bob Marley and Jimmy Cliff,
the sessions yielded not only “Pressure Drop,” an uplifting number set to an
irresistible skank, but also “Do the Reggay”—the song that announced the new
phenomenon of reggae to Jamaica.
“Pressure Drop,” though, encapsulates Toots & The Maytals’ positive,
evangelistic energy. Hibbert’s lead vocal is every bit as strong as his Stateside
inspirations Otis Redding and Curtis Mayfield, and the song’s sense of raw
euphoria would carry it far beyond Jamaica’s shores. “Pressure Drop” was
covered by The Clash, released on the B-side of their 1979 single “English Civil
War.” The Maytals have also recorded versions of the song with both Eric
Clapton and Keith Richards. LP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Cyprus Avenue
Van Morrison (1968)
Named in honor of a Belfast street on the right side of the tracks, “Cyprus
Avenue” is commonly misspelled. It is an easy mistake to make. Apparently, the
street itself was meant to be Cypress Avenue—every tree lining it is a different
species, and presumably there is, or once was, a cypress there—but someone
was confused, perhaps wrapped up in the dream state that floors Van Morrison.
For this, the centerpiece of Morrison’s turbulent, romantic Astral Weeks, our
man is transported to a teenage obsession, losing himself in a reverie of beauties
in carriages, lonely train drivers, and falling leaves. It zips past like heather on
the wind (“A total thing, a flow,” according to Morrison himself), the seasoned
jazz ensemble tuned to the precocious singer’s stream of delirium.
The song became a highlight of Morrison’s live set, an elongated show-
stopper whistling through jazz and blues styles more rooted in rhythm than the
flighty original. On the 1974 live album It’s Too Late to Stop Now—the title
taken from the last hurrah of the live “Cyprus Avenue,” in turn nabbed from
Moondance’s “Into the Mystic”—the song is prodded and squeezed, shifting
from swing to boogie to storming rock. Morrison makes mischief, stammering
along with the staccato piano as his “tongue gets tied,” but his breakdown
repetition of “all your revelation” takes the crazy mix of memory and transforms
it into a show of reverence. MH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Hey Jude
The Beatles (1968)
“It’s very strange to think that someone has written a song about you.
It still touches me.”
Julian Lennon, 2002
John Lennon thought it was about him. Judith Simons, a journalist with the
Daily Express, thought it was about her. It was not until some twenty years after
it was released that Julian Lennon was informed that one of the best-selling
singles of all time was originally conceived as a song that would comfort him
after his parents’ split. “I was driving out to see Cynthia Lennon,” Paul
McCartney revealed at the time. “It was just after John and she had broken up,
and I was quite mates with Julian. I was going out in my car just vaguely singing
this song, ‘Hey Jules, don’t make it bad . . .’ Then I thought a better name was
Jude, a bit more country and western for me.”
Finishing touches on the composition were worked through with John
(Lennon insisting that McCartney keep in the rather nonsensical lyric “The
movement you need is on your shoulder”). The Beatles then began to rehearse
the song at Abbey Road Studios in late July 1968, in the midst of the band’s
work on what became known as The White Album. They moved to Trident
Studios on July 31 to employ that facility’s eight-track capabilities, bringing in a
thirty-six-piece orchestra—with McCartney reportedly urging the players to join
in on the clapping and singing of the song’s extended coda. He had a very
specific arrangement in mind as they worked, and his controlling direction in the
studio led to friction, particularly with George Harrison, who balked at the
criticism of his suggested contributions.
Released less than a month later, the single was the first for the band’s new
Apple label. It soon climbed the charts on both sides of the Atlantic, staying at
No. 1 for nine weeks in the United States and becoming The Beatles’ top-selling
single. TS
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Much like the artist who created it, Jimi Hendrix’s “Voodoo Child (Slight
Return)” enjoys a legacy that is at once crystal clear and swathed in the haze of
rock lore. The song was recorded on May 3, 1968, the day after a longer version
of the same tune (which also appears on Electric Ladyland, as “Voodoo Chile”)
was laid down with Steve Winwood on organ, Jefferson Airplane’s Jack Cassady
on bass, and the Experience’s Mitch Mitchell on drums. This fifteen-minute
version was—though utterly electrifying itself—essentially a standard blues jam
played by a distinctly non-standard band and directly inspired by Muddy
Waters’s haunted, self-mythologizing “Mannish Boy,” first recorded in 1955.
The following day, The Jimi Hendrix Experience were back in the studio,
with Mitchell again on drums and regular band member Noel Redding on bass.
As Hendrix himself put it, “Someone was filming when we started doing
[“Voodoo Child”]. . . . They wanted to film us in the studio, to make us—‘Make
it look like you’re recording, boys’—one of them scenes, you know. So, ‘OK,
let’s play this in E, a-one, a-two, a-three,’ and then we went into ‘Voodoo
Child.’”
This time, for the benefit of onlookers unfamiliar with his incandescent style,
Hendrix added an introductory guitar riff that managed to capture just about
everything that made him rock’s undisputed heavyweight champion of guitar—a
slithering vamp of wah-wah-pedal splendor that exploded into the devastating
punch of his electric genius. “Well I stand up next to a mountain,” he began,
leaving no one in doubt that he truly was as tremendous as nature itself, poised
to chop it all down with his axe. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The Pusher
Steppenwolf (1968)
As Peter Fonda stuffs dollar bills—the profits from a cocaine deal—into a plastic
tube, thence into the gas tank of his customized Stars and Stripes chopper, the
menacing strains of Steppenwolf’s “The Pusher” are heard. A portentous
opening for groundbreaking counterculture flick Easy Rider.
Written by country singer Hoyt Axton after one of his friends had died of a
drug overdose, the song tackles hard drugs head-on (“I’ve seen a lot of people
walkin’ ’round / With tombstones in their eyes”), decrying and defying their
suppliers with an emphatic and unequivocal refrain: “God damn the pusher.”
The song did not chart (unlike Steppenwolf’s proto-metal “Born to Be Wild,”
heard over the opening credits of Easy Rider, which made U.S. No. 2 for three
weeks). But with its cold-eyed lyrics, slack, scratchy rhythm, and whinnying
lead guitar, it was a warning to a restless generation. However, Steppenwolf’s
front man, John Kay—guitar and vocals—was the pro-marijuana author of
“Don’t Step on the Grass, Sam,” and the song is no blanket condemnation of
recreational drugs; it draws a fine line between the dealer and his dope and the
pusher with his hardcore heroin.
“The Pusher” was covered by artists as diverse as Nina Simone and Blind
Melon, and its mesmerizing riff was also sampled by Neneh Cherry for “Trout,”
a duet with R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe that features in her 1992 set, Homebrew.
JJH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The Weight
The Band (1968)
“The Weight,” which formally introduced the world to The Band, is one of those
songs that feel instantly familiar the first time you hear them. It is a folktale in
the most literal sense, the kind that is handed down from one generation to the
next. Perhaps that’s why “The Weight” reached only No. 63 in the U.S. pop
charts when it was released on the group’s debut album. It was such an
important song that it already felt old and comfortable.
There was a lot of screaming in the year leading up to the autumn of 1968—
Jimi Hendrix’s guitar, Keith Moon’s drums, The Beatles’ acid hymns, and that
brought by the bullets that took Martin Luther King and Robert F. Kennedy. The
counterculture desperately needed a cool, faithful voice of reason, and here was
the band to deliver it. “I pulled into Nazareth, was feeling ’bout half past dead,”
sang drummer Levon Helm in his comforting tenor. “I just need to find a place
where I can lay my head.” Above Helm’s sturdy country rhythm, Robbie
Robertson strummed his rustic acoustic guitar and Richard Manuel filled in the
gaps with stately, descending flourishes of piano.
It was, indeed, time to “take a load off,” to come home from the psychedelic
party. The weight of revolution and drugs and war and self-indulgence was too
great to bear. Like the protagonist in the song, The Band delivered its regards to
a weary scene. Now it was time to leave Nazareth. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Days
The Kinks (1968)
My Way
Frank Sinatra (1969)
British folk icon Ewan MacColl’s “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face” has a
most personal backstory. The singer-songwriter, playwright, actor, and activist
penned it after being introduced to his third-wife-to-be, Peggy Seeger, having
watched her at an audition. But it would take the combination of a stylistic
transformation and exposure through a major motion picture to elevate this song
to the contemporary-standard status it enjoys today, covered by everyone from
Elvis Presley and Johnny Cash to Céline Dion.
Fledgling R&B vocalist Roberta Flack recorded the song for her 1969 debut
album, First Take. While MacColl’s original arrangement, performed by Peggy
Seeger, was simple and featured a pleasantly flowing vocal-and-acoustic-guitar
treatment, the dreamy tempo of Flack’s version is held together by her luminous
vocal, effectively minimal high-hat playing, and a sublime double-bass line by
jazz legend Ron Carter.
In 1971, actor Clint Eastwood included “The First Time Ever I Saw Your
Face” in his feature-film directorial debut, Play Misty for Me. On the strength of
this, the song became Flack’s first U.S. No. 1, in 1972, and earned her a
Grammy for Record of the Year in 1973. She would go on to have a successful
career in both R&B and adult pop, both as a solo artist and as a duet partner with
Donny Hathaway and later Peabo Bryson and Maxi Priest. YK
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
The title track of Candi Staton’s first album, recorded at Fame Studios in Muscle
Shoals, Alabama, takes Tammy Wynette’s dogged domestic fidelity and marries
it to “Chain of Fools” by Aretha Franklin (with whom Staton, as a young girl,
had toured in a gospel revue). Like Aretha, she recognizes that she is bound and
chained by love, but, like Tammy, she resolves to stand by her man.
The musicians on the track epitomized musical integration—remarkable in a
state that had been on the frontline of the civil-rights struggle. The Fame Gang, a
multiracial octet of crack session men, were one of the tightest soul ensembles of
all time, and they build the track here with sensitivity and precision. The opening
few bars are relaxed, based around Freeman Brown’s laid-back drums and Junior
Lowe’s country guitar, but by the time the chorus arrives, it has become a full-
blown whirlwind, thanks to Mickey Buckins’s surging horn arrangement and
Clayton Ivey’s funky organ.
Staton, too, starts out calm, even chatty (with a deft conversational touch
—“in other words”—lifted from Barbara Lewis’s “Baby I’m Yours”), but by the
fade, her voice is cracking and hoarse, broken by emotion and the endless takes
that producer Rick Hall insisted upon. In later years, disco bunnies would idolize
Staton for her 1976 anthem “Young Hearts Run Free,” but soul connoisseurs
will always prefer her years as a prisoner. SP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
When folk singer Sandy Denny joined Fairport Convention in 1969, her
knowledge of traditional British repertoire encouraged the band to turn away
from American folk and folk rock and look closer to home for their material.
This new approach bore fruit on the album What We Did on Our Holidays, their
first for Island.
Included on the album was “She Moves through the Fair,” a perfect synthesis
of old and new. The song, set to a traditional Irish tune (later to crop up in
Simple Minds’ “Belfast Child”), was collected around the turn of the twentieth
century by musicologist Herbert Hughes and poet Padraic Colum, who slightly
altered the lyrics and claimed them as his own. It became well known in the
Sixties through a number of recordings, including one by Anne Briggs and Davy
Graham.
The Fairport Convention version was, however, something else. Denny’s
crystal-clear vocals dominate, of course, but the ethereal, psychedelic backing
transforms the simple tune into an eerie sound-world, in keeping with the
ghostly lyrics. The arrangement, largely by Denny, centers around her own
acoustic guitar accompaniment and Ashley Hutchings’s eccentric bass line,
while the melody floats virtually unaltered above. This ability to breathe new life
into traditional material set the tone for Fairport’s future, establishing them as
Britain’s top folk-rock band. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
In the Ghetto
Elvis Presley (1969)
“I think Elvis took a huge chance in doing ‘In the Ghetto.’ It was a
big risk.”
Mac Davis, 2006
Was this really the same Elvis who only recently could be heard performing
unlistenable soundtracks to unwatchable films? The path that returned Elvis to
credibility started with his 1968 TV special, which had climaxed with “If I Can
Dream,” but “In the Ghetto” was another song of considerable substance,
musically and lyrically. Guided by the safety-first principle of Colonel Parker,
Elvis had never been much for music as social commentary, but a slew of
assassinations, including those of Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King (the
latter in Elvis’s Memphis hometown), affected the star profoundly.
Mac Davis—credited as Scott Davis to avoid confusion with another
similarly named songwriter—also had an agenda. He wanted to describe the
hopeless cycle of life in poverty, what he called “being born into a situation
where you have no hope.” Davis had in mind a title: “The Vicious Circle.”
However, as he admitted, “There’s nothing that rhymes with ‘circle.’”
Elvis harbored doubts about tackling a song that was so outspoken against
injustice. But ace producer Chips Moman of Memphis’s American Sound Studio
knew that musing about giving the number to another artist would be all the
convincing Elvis needed. During some of the most productive sessions of his
career, Elvis gave everything in twenty-three takes of the song.
“Crying in the Chapel” had been the last time that Elvis breached the U.S.
Top Three. That had been 1965. Four years on, he was back where he belonged.
The hit was merely the public confirming what the seen-it-all-before session
guys had witnessed in the studio: “He just sang great,” said trumpet player
Wayne Jackson. CB
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
While they won early notice for front man Peter Green’s faultless blues licks, the
original lineup of Fleetwood Mac also excelled both at psychedelic tenderness
(their hit instrumental, “Albatross”) and ribald, bawdy rock ‘n’ roll (infamously,
drummer Mick Fleetwood regularly affixed a large dildo he named Harold to his
drum kit before showtime). “Oh Well, Parts 1 & 2,” a non-album single,
encompassed these contrasts across its eight or so minutes, shedding light on the
troubled genius who led the band—Fleetwood later recalled that “there was an
aggressive side to Peter’s personality.” The track’s swaggering first half was all
blistering, bluesy attack (Green and sidemen Jeremy Spencer and Danny Kirwan
making for a fearsome triple-headed threat) and lyrics that snarled with contempt
for their target, some fool who had done Green wrong.
After this came a pastoral second half, a haunting instrumental for cello,
acoustic guitar, and flute (the latter performed by Green’s girlfriend, Sandra
Elsdon). This, according to Fleetwood, expressed the other side of Green’s
persona, “the reflective, spiritual musician.” Preceded by such a spiteful blues,
this gentle piece nevertheless possessed a menacing undertow.
Following a lysergic misadventure shortly afterwards, the unhappy Green
suffered a nervous breakdown and exited the group. An extended period of
upheaval followed, before Fleetwood Mac evolved into the chart-topping AOR
behemoth that recorded Rumours, with a sound far removed from their Sixties
roots. To this day, however, the blues-rock first half of “Oh Well” remains on
their setlist—although Harold is no longer seen on Fleetwood’s bass drum. SC
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
By the time Aussie vocalist Johnny Young wrote “The Real Thing,” he had been
the star of his own TV show at age sixteen, managed some hits in the mid-
Sixties, and then spent a year in the United Kingdom. When he returned Down
Under in 1968, he was past his commercial prime and was working as a DJ when
he penned his best-known song.
Fortunately, he didn’t record it himself. “It wouldn’t have been a hit if I’d
sung it,” Young told the Sun-Herald. “My time as a pop star was over.” Molly
Meldrum, however, heard the song and felt it suited a young singer he was
working with, Russell Morris, who had just left Somebody’s Image and was
looking to start his solo career. To put it mildly, Meldrum was right. The
recording married folksy pop with heady psychedelia and ran almost six and a
half minutes, but it was so addictive that just one spin felt insufficient. Morris’s
confident, yet deliciously understated, delivery was complemented by The
Chiffons’ lovely harmonies, The Groop’s soulful backing, and Meldrum’s head-
spinning production.
“The Real Thing” made Morris a truly big star in Australia, where the song
became 1969’s biggest-selling single. Many have long considered it one of the
greatest rock songs ever recorded Down Under—including, evidently, members
of the Australian government, who honored “The Real Thing” with its own
postal stamp in 1998. JiH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sister Morphine
Marianne Faithfull (1969)
Writer | Merle Haggard, Roy Edward Burris Producer | Fuzzy Owen Label |
Capitol
Album | Okie from Muskogee (1969)
Could this be the most controversial song in the country-music canon? Merle
Haggard wrote it on a tour bus while passing the Oklahoma town of Muskogee.
It began with a throwaway comment that became the song’s arresting opening
line: “We don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee”; from there, it unfavorably
compares the lives of the LSD-taking, draft-card-burning, long-haired hippies
from San Francisco with those of the simple, flag-waving, hand-holding folk of
Muskogee.
President Nixon was hooked and asked Haggard to play it in the White
House; Haggard refused, but didn’t recant his reactionary views, delighting
conservatives and confusing liberals, who had previously believed that Haggard,
an ex-con with a stick-it-to-the-man attitude, was one of them. Folk hippies The
Youngbloods recorded a conciliatory response, and the argument began.
Although partly tongue in cheek, “Okie . . .” is undoubtedly a conservative
anthem—a rarity in modern music—but Haggard himself is no partisan: he has
praised Reagan and JFK equally. His claimed motivations for writing “Okie . . .”
have changed over the years, partly as attitudes toward the Vietnam War—which
forms the unspoken center of the song—have developed. Whatever the truth,
there are few finer artefacts to represent the culture wars that have shaped
American politics for three generations. PW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Heartbreaker
Led Zeppelin (1969)
Writer | John Bonham, John Paul Jones, Jimmy Page, Robert Plant
Producer | Jimmy Page
Label | Atlantic
Album | Led Zeppelin II (1969)
Led Zeppelin’s eponymous debut album saw the band dress up English folk in
the sharp, pinstripe threads of the blues; on Led Zeppelin II they ventured further
into the music of cotton fields and crossroads. The opening riff of
“Heartbreaker,” a menacing, alley-cat swagger, shows how their sound had
become more commanding. This was partly due to Jimmy Page’s use of a
Gibson Les Paul guitar through a Marshall amplifier stack—a muscular
combination he favored for the rest of his career and a clear contrast to the nasal,
waspish timbre of his earlier guitar work with the group.
Robert Plant’s plaintive vocal tells a cautionary tale of torment at the hands
of an inconstant woman. Despite this classic blues theme (which Zep had visited
in “Dazed and Confused” on their debut LP, married to another memorable riff
and a similar slow-fast-slow verse structure), “Heartbreaker” still has a fair
amount of English dandification about it, with Plant milking the story for every
drop of debauched theater it can yield.
Page’s frenetic, improvised solo, which forms the centerpiece of the track,
was dubbed in after the main body of the song was recorded. Its dexterity and
showmanship inspired a young Edward Van Halen to develop the two-handed
tapping technique with which he would carry rock music even further from the
bluesman’s front porch and into the realm of stadium fantasy. JD
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Peggy Lee’s heyday came in the Fifties, yet in 1969, aged forty-nine, she had a
surprise Top Forty hit with a most unlikely song: “Is That All There Is?”
The recording almost never came to be. Originally written by Leiber and
Stoller with English singer Georgia Brown in mind, the track was offered to
Marlene Dietrich and Barbra Streisand before the less popular Lee recorded it, in
January 1969. It was only on Lee’s insistence that Capitol reluctantly agreed to
release it on an album in November of that year, but the single did well, reaching
No. 11 in the Billboard Hot 100 and winning the 1970 Grammy Award for Best
Contemporary Vocal Performance.
As surprising as Lee’s comeback was the song itself. In a masterful
arrangement by Randy Newman, the world-weary existential lyrics (based on
Thomas Mann’s short story “Disillusionment”) are first spoken as a narrative
over a lush orchestral backing but then break into a chorus sung Lotte Lenya–
style, with an accompaniment reminiscent of Kurt Weill’s settings of Brecht.
The song suited the mood of the time. “Is That All There Is?” appealed to a
younger audience as much as Lee’s older fan base, and was an influence on
artists such as Bette Midler and Madonna. It has been covered by singers as
diverse as Sandra Bernhard, in 1999, and Chaka Khan, in 2004, though
Cristina’s jagged 1980 take drew Leiber and Stoller’s wrath. MW
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sweetness
Yes (1969)
Writer | Jon Anderson, Chris Squire, Clive Bailey Producer | Paul Clay, Yes
Label | Atlantic
Album | Yes (1969)
Formed from the ashes of the splendidly titled Mabel Greer’s Toy Shop, Yes in
1969 were very different from their later prog-rock incarnation. They were, at
best, an experimental rock group with a major Beatles hang-up. In fact, Yes had
initially wanted Paul McCartney to produce their self-titled debut album, and
had auditioned for Apple. It would have made perfect sense, as the record owes a
great deal to his White Album ballads.
“Sweetness” is gentle, melodic, and brief. It highlights the players’ ability,
but not once does it slide into the shuddering pomp the band went on to produce
for most of the Seventies. Chris Squire’s tremoloed bass references McCartney’s
high-fretboard work, while Tony Kaye’s underrated Hammond, Bill Bruford’s
restrained drumming, and Peter Banks’s gently phased guitar all support the
serenity of Jon Anderson’s vocal and the charmingly open-hearted lyrics. The
dramatic buildup in the middle eight is quickly resolved with a gently melodic
breakdown, the only hint of the progressive path that Yes were to take.
“Sweetness” was Yes’s debut single but did very little and was never
performed by them in concert. It was almost as if the band were ashamed of it.
However, American fringe actor/director/singer Vincent Gallo admired the song,
using it (alongside “Heart of the Sunrise,” from 1971’s Fragile) in his 1998 cult
classic, Buffalo 66. DE
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Suspicious Minds
Elvis Presley (1969)
“I give you my word I will never sing a song I don’t believe in.”
Elvis Presley, 1968
“I was left with all these pieces of song and I said, ‘Let’s sing them
together and call it a suite.’”
Stephen Stills, 1991
Pinball Wizard
The Who (1969)
“The whole point of ‘Pinball Wizard’ was to let [Tommy] have some
sort of colorful event and excitement.”
Pete Townshend, 1969
Few would claim that the influential rock opera Tommy is The Who’s best
album. Track for track, it cannot compete with 1971’s Who’s Next, which
contains “Baba O’Riley,” “Behind Blue Eyes,” and “Won’t Get Fooled Again.”
But in the midst of the filler that connects the twisting storyline—of a “deaf,
dumb, and blind kid” who becomes a messiah—Tommy contained a few true
gems, the brightest of which was “Pinball Wizard.”
The lyrics were not great, and it took a leap of faith to believe in a hero who
ruled the arcade by “sense of smell.” Yet The Who sold this song with fury, and
the feverish pitch carried equal amounts of virtuosity and ambition. Guitarist
Pete Townshend’s super-fast strumming was worth the admission price alone.
(“I attempted the same mock baroque guitar beginning that’s on ‘I’m a Boy,’” he
revealed later—actually a purposeful nod to Henry Purcell’s “Fantasia upon One
Note”—“and then a bit of vigorous kind of flamenco guitar.”)
Upon its release, Tommy was hailed as a masterpiece by some and dismissed
as self-indulgent by others, yet almost everyone agreed that “Pinball Wizard”
(the last track to be written for the album) was a great song. One dissenting
opinion, oddly, came from its author, who later dubbed it “the most clumsy piece
of writing [I’ve] ever done.” Townshend was outvoted by fans, who made
“Pinball Wizard” a U.S. and U.K. Top Twenty hit and now regard it as a career
highlight.
The song’s popularity kept Tommy on the radio for decades, and paved the
way for the story to be retold through Ken Russell’s 1975 film, in which Elton
John performed “Pinball Wizard.” A musical play debuted onstage in 1993, and
the song has enjoyed countless revivals. JiH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
After the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in 1968, civil-rights politics
and soul music became increasingly radicalized. Sylvester Johnson was early to
articulate the new mood. “Is It Because I’m Black?” plays like the sour flip side
to Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” with its despondent recognition of
the deep-seated inequalities in U.S. society. Referring to King’s rhetoric, he
sings: “Looking back at my first dreams that I once knew / Wondering why my
dreams never came true.”
Musically, the song is a taut Chicago blues in the soulful style of B. B.
King’s contemporaneous hit “The Thrill Is Gone.” Johnson was raised in the
Windy City, brought up in a house next door to the harmonica player Magic
Sam, and had cut his teeth playing with blues legends including Elmore James,
Freddie King, and Howlin’ Wolf. Guitarist Mabon “Teenie” Hodges lays down a
supple groove, backed in a propulsive arrangement by his brothers, bass player
Leroy and organist Charles.
Johnson’s assessment of race relations is bleak. “Like a child stealing its first
piece of candy and got caught / Peeping around life’s corner, somewhere I got
lost,” he sings, simmering with dejection. But on the extended LP version, he
finds a way forward. Over the course of seven minutes, “something is holding
me back” gradually morphs into the nobler sentiment “keep on keepin’ on.”
Even in the depths of despair, there is hope. SP
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Writer | Sylvester “Sly Stone” Stewart Producer | Sly Stone Label | Epic
Album | Stand! (1969)
In the wee hours of Sunday, August 17, 1969, the drugged-out, worn-out crowd
of around 400,000 who had assembled at Woodstock were literally shaken out of
their slumbers by Sly & The Family Stone’s electrifying performance of “I Want
to Take You Higher.” Sly, the razzle-dazzle front man, a black rhinestone
cowboy with tassles all a-flailing, shouted out “Higher!” and the crowd
responded back in kind. The horns screeched the riffs while Sly’s brother
Freddie laid down the funky guitar riff over Larry Graham’s pioneering slap-
bass.
The song had originally been released as the B-side of “Stand!,” which made
the U.S. No. 22 slot a few months before Woodstock, and then No. 60 as an A-
side in its own right. After Sly’s da-bomb live version, it was re-released in June
1970, reaching No. 38. Drawing on the track “Higher” from their 1968 LP,
Dance to the Music, “I Want to Take You Higher” crossed racial and gender
divides; it was the epitome of Sly’s kaleidoscopic, psychedelic soul. The band
were one of the first to openly feature black female singers and instrumentalists
(Cynthia Robinson on trumpet and Sly’s sister Rose on piano) alongside mixed-
race horn players.
In February 2006, the sixty-one-year-old Sly Stone performed “I Want to
Take You Higher” at the Grammys. Sporting a peroxide-white Mohawk, he
departed after just a few verses. Other recent appearances have been equally
unpredictable. JJH
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
“We’ve always had . . . letters. Kids write and say ‘I don’t understand
your lyrics, who IS the Crimson King?’”
Peter Sinfield, 1971
Writer | Jimmy Page, Robert Plant, John Paul Jones, John Bonham, Willie
Dixon
Producer | Jimmy Page
Label | Atlantic
Album | Led Zeppelin II (1969)
“Well, you only get caught when you’re successful. That’s the game.”
Robert Plant, 2000
Having covered two songs penned by bluesman Willie Dixon on their debut LP
(“You Shook Me” and “I Can’t Quit You Baby”), Led Zeppelin decided on a
reworking of his “You Need Love” (written for Muddy Waters) to open their
follow-up album. Dixon’s track had previously been remodeled by Steve
Marriott in the form of “You Need Loving” for The Small Faces, but Page and
Plant went further by turning the simple blues number into a symphonic rock
opus. The initially uncredited adaptation led to an out-of-court settlement with
Dixon years after the song’s release.
The full-length album version of the song includes an extended break with a
drum solo, theremin, and a moaning vocal workout from Plant, which has
become known as the “orgasm section.” As Zeppelin did not release singles in
the United Kingdom, the length (5.33 minutes) was not a problem in that market.
However, the length of the track and the unorthodox bridge section led to edited
shorter versions being released as singles in other territories.
One of the best-known uses of the song, or specifically its opening riff, was
as the title theme to BBC Television’s Top of the Pops. Actually a faithful 1970
cover played by CCS, the riff announced the show for more than thirty years.
“Whole Lotta Love” has the distinction of being the last song performed live
by Zeppelin’s original lineup, on July 7, 1980, in Berlin. The song was also
played by the three surviving members at Live Aid (1985), the Atlantic Records
Fortieth Anniversary (1988), and the Ahmet Ertegun tribute concert (2007).
Jimmy Page also went on to perform a version of the song with Leona Lewis at
the closing ceremony of the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Elvis Presley’s “Hound Dog” may have kicked open the kennels, but it was this
ode to canine carnality that really let the dogs out into rock ’n’ roll. The Stooges
shunned late-Sixties hippie-dippy love-song tropes for a rude mating ritual about
the agony and the ecstasy of adolescent sex.
Riding guitarist Ron Asheton’s distortion-driven three-chord (G, F#, and E)
guitar throb and producer John Cale’s single-fingered piano drone, vocalist Iggy
Stooge (not yet Pop) delivers a snotty-nosed sermon about subservient, screwed-
up love that upstages even The Velvet Underground’s seminal sagas of sexual
deviance.
Rolling Stone reviewer Edmund O. Ward panned the racket as “loud, boring,
tasteless, unimaginative, and childish.” The song isn’t just an adolescent rock
shtick about self-abasement, though. It reflects Iggy’s obsession with the brutish
minimalism of the blues. Muddy Waters’s swampy overhaul of Big Joe
Williams’s classic “Baby Please Don’t Go” is transformed into a coarse new
cocktail of blues-rock monotony. The single failed to chart, but its nihilistic glee
struck a major chord with the late-Seventies blank generation. Covered by
everyone from punk pinups Richard Hell and Sid Vicious to post-punk
progenitors The Fall, Pere Ubu, and Sonic Youth, the song was performed by
R.E.M. and Patti Smith at The Stooges’ Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction,
in 2007. MK
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Recorded as part of their debut live album of the same name over two nights at
the Detroit Grande Ballroom, “Kick Out the Jams” is the definitive revolutionary
rock call to arms. Though not lyrically political, it became the antiestablishment
calling card for a band who performed amid the riots of the 1968 Chicago
Democratic Convention and helped form the Marxist White Panther Party.
The controversies surrounding the Motor City Five were myriad, but none
was more significant than the incendiary opening epithet of the song—“Kick out
the jams, motherfuckers!” This led to stores’ refusing to stock the record, an
edited version being released, and every live performance of the band putting
them at risk of obscenity laws.
The song’s title was widely adopted as a slogan by the counterculture
movements of the late Sixties and early Seventies. Given the revolutionary
leanings of the group, and particularly their manager—White Panther founder
John Sinclair—this would be understandable. The band, though, have
maintained it was aimed at other groups who indulged in too much “jamming”
onstage.
The song is widely viewed as a prototype for punk and garage rock. The
MC5 ushered in a Detroit sound that superseded Berry Gordy’s Motown,
influencing bands from Detroit contemporaries The Stooges to Rage Against the
Machine, Monster Magnet, and Primal Scream. CR
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
Sorry, Tito, but it is a Michael Jackson song. The happiest tune ever written
about sadness was the debut of The Jackson 5, who would launch the perennial
boy-band model with this, the first of four consecutive No. 1 hits, in 1969. And
sure, Jackie, Marlon, and Jermaine contribute some lead-vocal cameos along the
way. But it can’t be a coincidence that the introduction of Michael’s vocal cords
to the whole world led to arguably the greatest pop song in history.
“I Want You Back” was written by the freshly minted Corporation, a think
tank of soul headed up by Motown honcho Berry Gordy, who wanted to plug his
Indiana-bred prodigies into Frankie Lymon’s faded teen-dream socket. The
song’s exultant rattle of piano, dancing strings, vibrant funk guitars, and
background “oo-oohs” was a perfect fit for the singing Jackson brothers.
From the moment Michael jumped into the Corporation’s orgiastic intro, it
was clear the kid was on another level. With just an “uh-huh” and a “lemme tell
ya, now,” his nimble alto revealed a musical and emotional intuition that most of
our greatest adult singers never reach. “I Want You Back” may be the best his
voice ever sounded. Obviously, an eleven-year-old didn’t write words like
“Tryin’ to live without your love is one long sleepless night,” but only Michael
Jackson could make heartbreak seem so perfectly blissful. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1960s
When B. B. King recorded the biggest U.S. pop hit of his career (a No. 15), in
June 1969, the Motown sound, with its lollipop melodies and bouncing bass
lines, was pushing King’s black audience for the blues to the margins of urban
radio broadcasts. It was time to shake up the formula.
King wanted to record a cover of Roy Hawkins’s minor 1951 hit, “The Thrill
Is Gone,” an old favorite from his days as a radio DJ in Memphis. B. B. figured
he could lay some trademark guitar licks over the top of the rare minor-key blues
lament and come out with something a little moodier and more sophisticated
than, say, “Paying the Cost to Be the Boss.” He found the ideal collaborator in
young producer Bill Szymczyk, who convinced King to cut the track with four
session men, rather than his usual band, and to flavor it with sedated rhythm
guitar and organ instead of the usual barrage of horns. King sang with dignified
remorse about breaking free from a lover’s spell, his gruff vibrato almost ghostly
over Paul Harris’s keys and Gerlad Jemmott’s mournful bass.
Then Szymczyk decided to add a twelve-piece string section (arranged by
Bert DeCoteaux), believing it would propel the song to mainstream radio. In
effect, it propelled string sections—one part classy, two parts pornographic—to
mainstream radio for the next decade, rendering “The Thrill Is Gone” a blues-
fusion classic. MO
See all songs from the 1960s
1970s
• Bob Marley comes to prominence as reggae’s most charismatic star
• Abba, formed in 1972, dominate the charts throughout the decade
• David Bowie introduces, then kills off, his Ziggy Stardust persona
• The Sex Pistols form in 1975 and galvanize U.K. punk rock
• Saturday Night Fever triggers a global fascination with disco in 1977
Contents
Up Around the Bend
Layla
War Pigs
When the Revolution Comes
Band of Gold
Love the One You’re With
Fire and Rain
Ain’t No Mountain High Enough
Black Night
War
(To Be) Young, Gifted and Black
Ball of Confusion
Avec le temps
The Man Who Sold the World
Awaiting on You All
Northern Sky
Maybe I’m Amazed
Into the Mystic
Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine
Ohio
The Only Living Boy in New York
In a Broken Dream
Oh Lonesome Me
54-46 Was My Number
Working Class Hero
Box of Rain
Life on Mars?
Bang a Gong (Get It On)
Blackwater Side
I Don’t Want to Talk About It
A Case of You
Crayon Angels
Famous Blue Raincoat
Chalte Chalte
Maggie May
Imagine
Laughing
When the Levee Breaks
Surf’s Up
Theme from Shaft
The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
It’s Too Late
Dum Maro Dum
Tired of Being Alone
Won’t Get Fooled Again
Vincent
City of New Orleans
Peace Train
Superstar
A Nickel and a Nail
Inner City Blues (Make Me Wanna Holler)
Papa Was a Rollin’ Stone
I’ll Take You There
Soul Makossa
Superstition
Elected
Sam Stone
Willin’
It’s a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl
Sail Away
Silver Machine
Tumbling Dice
Thirteen
Big Eyed Beans from Venus
Rocket Man
Mama Weer All Crazee Now
Rocky Mountain High
The Night
Reelin’ in the Years
Always on My Mind
Most People I Know . . .
Taj Mahal
Walk on the Wild Side
Virginia Plain
You’re So Vain
Today I Started Loving You Again
Il mio canto libero
Superfly
Crazy Horses
All the Young Dudes
Personality Crisis
The Ballroom Blitz
Jolene
Next
20th Century Boy
Rock On
Search and Destroy
Desperado
Child’s Christmas in Wales
Solid Air
I Know What I Like (in Your Wardrobe)
Cum on Feel the Noize
Living for the City
I Can’t Stand the Rain
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road
Future Days
Essiniya
Carpet Crawlers
Águas de março
Ain’t No Love in the Heart of the City
(Looking for) The Heart of Saturday Night
Sweet Home Alabama
Piss Factory
Evie
Free Man in Paris
I Will Always Love You
The Grand Tour
Withered and Died
Louisiana 1927
You Haven’t Done Nothin’
This Town Ain’t Big Enough for the Both of Us
Only Women Bleed
Jive Talkin’
Jesus’ Blood Never Failed Me Yet
Boulder to Birmingham
Fight the Power (Parts 1 & 2)
That’s the Way (I Like It)
Kalimankou denkou
Marcus Garvey
Bohemian Rhapsody
Gloria
Tangled Up in Blue
Walk This Way
Wish You Were Here
Time of the Preacher
Rimmel
Born to Be with You
Musica ribelle
Born to Run
Leb’ Wohl
Legalize It
(Don’t Fear) The Reaper
More Than a Feeling
Sir Duke
The Killing of Georgie (Parts I & II)
Dancing Queen
Blitzkrieg Bop
Love Hangover
Cokane in My Brain
Police and Thieves
(I’m) Stranded
Hotel California
Roadrunner
American Girl
Detroit Rock City
Young Hearts Run Free
Chase the Devil
New Rose
Anarchy in the U.K.
Poor Poor Pitiful Me
Underground
God Save the Queen
Trans-Europe Express
Sweet Gene Vincent
By This River
Dum Dum Boys
Com’è profondo il mare
Ghost Rider
Orgasm Addict
Holidays in the Sun
Peaches
Black Betty
Born for a Purpose
Zombie
Wuthering Heights
Uptown Top Ranking
I Feel Love
Peg
Marquee Moon
Like a Hurricane
The Passenger
Stayin’ Alive
Wonderous Stories
Go Your Own Way
“Heroes”
Exodus
River Song
Whole Lotta Rosie
Blank Generation
Bat Out of Hell
Lust for Life
Non-Alignment Pact
Blue Valentines
Heart of Glass
Ever Fallen in Love … (with Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)
Le Freak
Milk and Alcohol
Don’t Stop Me Now
Teenage Kicks
You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)
Human Fly
Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground)
(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea
One Nation under a Groove
Das Model
Shot by Both Sides
Public Image
Alternative Ulster
(White Man) In Hammersmith Palais
Ambition
Hong Kong Garden
Being Boiled
Rock Lobster
Roxanne
Another Girl, Another Planet
Germ Free Adolescents
Runnin’ with the Devil
Hammond Song
Heaven
The Eton Rifles
London Calling
Transmission
Voulez-Vous
Beat the Clock
Oliver’s Army
Tusk
Gloria
Black Eyed Dog
Are “Friends” Electric?
Boys Don’t Cry
Good Times
Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough
Lost in Music
Brass in Pocket
Outdoor Miner
Rapper’s Delight
California Über Alles
Typical Girls
Atomic
Gangsters
Cars
Babylon’s Burning
Message in a Bottle
1970s
“Rock ’n’ roll is Southern and that’s why I’m Southern. Because what
I learned from was Southern.”
John Fogerty, 1997
Influenced by: I’ve Got a Tiger by the Tail • Buck Owens (1964)
Influence on: Out in the Street • Bruce Springsteen (1980)
Covered by: Hanoi Rocks (1984) • Elton John (1994) • The Bates
(2000)
At the end of the 1960s, rock bands that did not count a deified figure among
their ranks (Morrison, Hendrix, Clapton, Page, etc.) had to work especially hard
just to seem worthy of airplay. If you weren’t writing a tripped-out concept
album or redefining your instrument, you were liable to be trampled underfoot.
Such was the plight of American group Creedence Clearwater Revival and its
lead singer, guitarist, and songwriter, John Fogerty, who didn’t write sixteen-
minute songs about sex and didn’t use a wah-wah pedal but still managed to
churn out one great hit song after another.
In 1970, writing his fifth album in two years, Fogerty sharpened his genius
for “roots rock,” as it would be called today, with songs such as “Up Around the
Bend” (U.S. No. 4; U.K. No. 3). Using a screaming lead-guitar lick from
Hendrix’s bag, a driving chord progression courtesy of The Beatles, and Grateful
Dead harmonies in the chorus, Fogerty carved out a tune that, in the end, could
only have been Creedence Clearwater Revival: tight, melodic, forceful, and done
in two and a half minutes. The song was released on a double A-sided single
with “Run Through the Jungle” on the flip side.
As with most of Creedence’s best work, the beauty of “Up Around the Bend”
is in its simplicity. The song invites the listener to a party just up the road, and
there’s the sense that there won’t be any strawberry elevators or rainbow alarm
clocks when you get there. It’s more wood paneling and beer. “Bring a song and
a smile for the banjo / Better get while the gettin’s good,” Fogerty sings in his
trademark raspy howl. “Hitch a ride to the end of the highway.” MO
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Layla
Derek & The Dominos (1970)
“I’m very proud of [‘Layla’]. I love to hear it. It’s almost like it’s not
me. It’s like I’m listening to someone that I really like.”
Eric Clapton, 2001
War Pigs
Black Sabbath (1970)
Rain, thunder, and a tolling bell opened Black Sabbath’s debut album. If you
made it through that nightmare, album two (released just seven months later)
offered no respite: the air-raid sirens of its opening song suggested you had
awoken to a world that was even worse. The song was “War Pigs,” which—
despite Paranoid’s hit title track—remains the definitive early-Sabbath anthem.
Indeed, it was originally envisaged as the album’s title song (hence Paranoid’s
peculiar artwork), an idea that was nixed to avoid putting the band into a
political corner regarding the Vietnam War.
The original version (demoed as “Walpurgis”) spoke of “bodies burning in
red ashes” and “bad sinners . . . eating dead rats’ innards.” However, alarmed by
the public’s perception of the band as devil worshipers, Sabbath reworked the
lyrics, inadvertently evoking the era’s disillusionment and horror. “We knew
nothing about Vietnam,” observed Ozzy. “It’s just an antiwar song.” “The
world,” grumbled bassist and chief lyricist Geezer Butler, “is a right fucking
shambles.”
The evocative lyrics were complemented by an imaginative structure. After
the dead-slow introduction, the song showcased Ozzy’s distinctive wail, Tony
Iommi’s vicious riffing, and Butler and drummer Bill Ward’s almost jazzy
rhythm section. A blueprint for the next two decades of heavy metal had arrived.
BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Umar Bin Hassan Producer | East Wind Associates Label | Douglas
Album | The Last Poets (1970)
“Understand that time is running out!” ran the opening words to The Last Poets’
eponymous debut album, and that same sense of urgency was maintained
throughout the set, conjured from only fiery voices and an endless, restless
rumble of percussion. A trio of urban bards from Harlem with links to the Black
Panthers, and who formed in May 1968 at a celebration for Malcolm X, The Last
Poets were dreaming of an Afrocentric revolution. “When the Revolution
Comes” was, by turns, an electrifying call to arms (“Guns and rifles will be
taking the place of poems and essays”), and a scabrous attack on those they saw
as obstacles.
Often, the Poets took aim at what they perceived as antirevolutionary apathy
on the part of a black community lulled by the material comforts of relative
upward mobility. Another Harlem poet and a fellow rap primogenitor, Gil Scott-
Heron, had gibed at such political lethargy on his epochal “The Revolution Will
Not Be Televised” that same year, and Umar Bin Hassan opened his track by
warning that the revolution might come while many were glued to their
televisions.
Across its two-and-a-half-minute spiel, Hassan dreamed of junkies swapping
their drugs for the cause, Jesus walking the streets of Harlem, and “straight-hairs
trying to wear Afros,” though he knew many of his contemporaries preferred to
“party and bullshit.” SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Band of Gold
Freda Payne (1970)
Freda Payne, sister of Seventies-era Supreme Scherrie Payne, spent the Sixties
unsuccessfully courting the listening public. Her first two albums were jazz
recordings, neither of which did well. The long courtship paid off at the dawn of
the new decade, though, as Payne hitched herself to a song that would take her to
the top of the charts.
“Band of Gold” came courtesy of Brian Holland, Edward Holland, and
Lamont Dozier, who convinced the vocalist to sign with their new Invictus label
and try her hand at pop. They handed her a surefire hit, which they co-wrote
under the pen name “Edyth Wayne,” a move made necessary due to a lawsuit
with old employer Motown.
The curious lyrics, still ripe for interpretation, describe a young marriage
gone terribly wrong on a honeymoon spent in separate rooms. For some reason,
the groom has abandoned his bride in a darkened room “filled with sadness,
filled with gloom.” The only thing she has left, besides a broken heart, is “a band
of gold.”
Thanks to Payne’s heroic delivery, the song becomes an old-fashioned
somebody-done-somebody-wrong anthem. Her voice was complemented, never
crowded, by steady accompaniment from The Funk Brothers, Motown’s famed
house band. The whole package translated to a worldwide hit, which dominated
the top spot on the U.K. charts for six weeks. JiH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
When supergroup Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young fragmented after recording the
terrific but traumatic album Déjà vu, the four members set about establishing
their solo credentials. “Love the One You’re With” was one of a batch of new
songs recorded by Stephen Stills at Island Studios in London for what would be
his eponymous debut album. A chance remark, overheard by Stills, from
musician Billy Preston became the inspiration for both the song and its title,
although Doris Troy also claimed to have had that conversation with Stills.
Distancing himself from the CSN&Y West Coast hype, Stills left the United
States in 1970, moved to England, and rented (and later bought) Ringo Starr’s
Surrey country house. A rich vein of form resulted, as Stills poured all his
energy into recording enough material for a number of future projects. With its
hypnotic percussion and wall of sound built on Stills’s searing organ playing,
“Love the One You’re With” was a transatlantic hit single and included guest
harmonies by David Crosby and Graham Nash.
An eclectic musician, Stills embraced blues, Latin, country, and rock on his
solo recordings, and “Love the One You’re With” had a soul sensibility that later
attracted The Isley Brothers and Luther Vandross to record it. Best interpretation
of all, perhaps, was Aretha Franklin’s gospel soul reading on Aretha Live at
Fillmore West. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Autobiographical work doesn’t get much more potent than James Taylor’s “Fire
and Rain,” penned while in rehab for a debilitating heroin addiction in 1968. It
chronicles both his experiences in a U.S. mental institution and the suicide of a
friend. According to Taylor himself, the song was written in three parts over
three months in 1968: the first in a basement apartment in London, the second in
a hospital room in Manhattan, and the third in Austin Riggs hospital in
Massachusetts. In his own words: “It’s like three samplings of what I went
through then.”
The lyrics speak for themselves: “Suzanne” was later confirmed as good
friend Suzanne Schnerr, who had committed suicide. The poetic line “sweet
dreams and flying machines in pieces on the ground” refers to his failed band,
The Flying Machine, while his own plea (“Won’t you look down upon me,
Jesus”) begs unashamedly for salvation and sobriety.
Both the album and the single reached No. 3 on the Billboard charts. His
devastating juxtaposition of sweet-sounding vocals, sparse instrumentation, and
apocalyptic lyrics made Taylor an overnight star. “‘Fire and Rain’ is
undoubtedly a great song,” mused the record’s producer, Peter Asher, twenty-
eight years later, “but I’d be hard pressed to say what about it is unusual or
which bit of the song is exceptional. The whole thing is.” KL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Originally a hit for Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell in 1967, “Ain’t No
Mountain High Enough” was dramatically reinvented by producer/composer
couple Ashford and Simpson to provide Diana Ross with her solo breakthrough.
Ross had been groomed by Motown boss Berry Gordy for solo stardom for at
least three years, first taking separate billing on Supremes singles then leaving
the band with a farewell concert earlier in 1970, but her first release had been a
relative disaster.
“Reach Out and Touch (Somebody’s Hand),” another Ashford and Simpson
composition, barely scraped the Billboard Top Twenty in April 1970, but the
follow-up was a surefire smash. Gaye and Terrell’s take had been
straightforward, finger-clicking soul, an arrangement The Supremes used on a
1968 hookup with The Temptations, and one later borrowed by Amy Winehouse
for her single “Tears Dry on Their Own” in 2007. But the new “Ain’t No
Mountain High Enough” was a sexy anthem, whipping up the tension with two
minutes of psychedelic soul before the delayed release of the chorus.
It shot to No. 1 in the United States. Yet it could have all been so different.
“Dusty Springfield came by our house and heard it,” Valerie Simpson later
confided. “But we told her, ‘We couldn’t give it to you.’” Springfield’s loss was
Ross’s belated gain, confirming the birth of a diva. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Black Night
Deep Purple (1970)
Writer | Ritchie Blackmore, Ian Gillan, Roger Glover, Jon Lord, Ian Paice
Producer | Deep Purple
Label | Harvest
Album | N/A
“Black Night” has something of the appeal of a vintage motorcycle. Brutish and
primal, this gutsy British boogie is propelled along by its central riff as by a
large, thumping engine. If it were possible to park this song in a garage, it would
leave a puddle of oil on the floor.
Despite being Deep Purple’s highest-selling single, the track was not drawn
from In Rock, the band’s fourth album. Instead, “Black Night” was released as a
radio-friendly single to promote In Rock, ironically outshining that album in
posterity. According to vocalist Ian Gillan, the song’s title was inspired by the
lyrics of an old Arthur Alexander blues song, while the tempo was borrowed
from the roadhouse-boogie style characteristic of Canned Heat. The lyrics are
fairly perfunctory—Gillan admits they were hastily written in a pub at the end of
a fruitless studio session aimed at producing a single.
More important is the way Jon Lord’s churning Hammond organ fuses with
Ritchie Blackmore’s brooding guitar to produce a new element on the periodic
table of rock—like lead, only heavier. An interesting footnote to this
quintessential metal riff is that, according to guitarist Blackmore, it took unlikely
inspiration from the guitar line on Ricky Nelson’s cover of the George Gershwin
jazz standard “Summertime.”
True, the track is not without its precedents. Blackmore’s raygun-style,
whammy-bar excursions owe no small debt to Hendrix, while Ian Gillan’s vocal
takes cues from the declamatory style of the traditional bluesman. Be that as it
may, “Black Night” signaled that a new breed of heavy rock had awoken—and
that its future was not bright, but dark as midnight. JD
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
War
Edwin Starr (1970)
“If you grew up in the Sixties, you grew up with war on TV every
night, a war that your friends were involved in.”
Bruce Springsteen, 1985
After Gladys Knight hit No. 1 with “I Heard it Through the Grapevine,” Norman
Whitfield was Motown’s backroom alpha male, the only man with clout enough
to take Berry Gordy’s baby into the ghetto when the label boss wanted it to have
a residency in Vegas.
In March 1970, The Temptations’ album Psychedelic Shack was released,
and Whitfield almost immediately had them back in the studio to work on their
apocalyptic next single, “Ball of Confusion,” a mid-tempo litany of woe stuffed
with guitar effects, blues harmonica, and clavinets. Yet before they had finished,
it was obvious that one of the songs on the album had caught the ear of the
antiwar lobby as the conflict in Vietnam dragged on. Motown were repeatedly
asked for a single release of the song.
The producer had a dilemma: releasing this song, “War,” as a single would
polarize opinion and kill The Temptations’ career. Moreover, after “Ball of
Confusion,” it felt like a half-strength howl. He trawled the label’s B-list for
other singers, and when The Undisputed Truth refused to do it, Edwin Starr got
the gig. The singer insisted it had to be done his way, and all those grunts,
screams, and ad libs (“Listen to me,” “Good Gawd, y’all,” “Say it, say it, say it,
s-a-a-a-y it”) were spontaneous. It proved to be the most successful song of his
career.
Harnessing the singer’s James Brown inflections to a track that owed much
to “Ball of Confusion” (which would be released during the sessions) but added
a military beat, Whitfield concocted a perennial classic, an American No. 1, and
a peacenik chant for ever, its power undimmed through forty years in which it
has been frequently banned at sensitive times. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Ball of Confusion
The Temptations (1970)
Motown were slow to embrace songs of social awareness, but made up for it
with stunning turn-of-the-decade releases by Marvin Gaye (What’s Goin’ On,
1971), Edwin Starr (“War,” 1970), and—of course—The Temptations.
Norman Whitfield’s tenure as producer had seen The Temptations evolve
from soulful pop to psychedelic soul with LPs Cloud Nine (1969) and
Psychedelic Shack (1970), the latter featuring an early version of “War.” “Ball of
Confusion”—which owed much to Whitfield’s affection for Sly & The Family
Stone, George Clinton, and Jimi Hendrix—matched a scintillating, slow-burn
arrangement to a world vision verging on the paranoid. Underpinned by Funk
Brother Bob Babbitt’s nagging bassline, four of The Temptations tick off the
world’s escalating crises, with Dennis Edwards handling the trickier lines.
Racism, two-faced politicians, drug abuse, violent civil unrest, mounting bills,
war—and, all the while, that incessant bass and beat keep ramping up the
tension. Snaggles of psychedelic guitar mirror the singers’ head-shaking
bewilderment, interspersed by funky brass and a wailing harmonica. When the
chorus finally hits, and the harmonies blend, it’s sheer relief. The track was
recorded in one three-hour stint, prior to the lyrics being written; Babbitt didn’t
hear the song in its full-on politicized glory until four days later, on his car radio.
RD
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Avec le temps
Léo Ferré (1970)
Writer | Léo Ferré Producer | Gerhardt Lehner Label | Barclay Album | Amour
Anarchie (1970)
There is a phonetic quality to the French language that can infuse even the
dullest weather report with a sense of melancholy and sensuality. The expression
of sorrow and somber reflection is, of course, intrinsic to Léo Ferré’s chosen
genre, the chanson. The lyrics of “Avec le temps” speak of the faces and voices
you forget as time passes, of a heart that stops beating—and of rays of death on a
Saturday night. Translations of such lyrics always seem melodramatic and
eccentric.
“Avec le temps” was first released as a single in October 1970, shortly after
Ferré recorded it at the age of fifty-four. The singer’s age may partly explain the
dark subject matter of “Avec le temps,” and the song also references tensions in
Ferré’s life as a popular artist. The Monaco-born singer’s upbringing at an
oppressive Italian boarding school had left him feeling alienated from society
and keen to cultivate the image of an outsider. By expressing himself in lyric-
driven songs that followed the rhythm of his mother tongue, he had rebelled
against the conformity imposed by Anglo-American pop, and he was adopted as
a voice for left-leaning intellectuals and revolutionaries. Yet reconciling this
widespread popularity with the fact that he felt at odds with the rest of society
must have been difficult. The personal sense of vulnerability he revealed in
“Avec le temps” may well have hinted at this conflict. DaH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
One week in 1970, David Bowie’s telephone rang every day at the exact same
time—but whenever he answered it, there was no one there. Stoked up on
thoughts of Tibetan Buddhism and the occult writings of Aleister Crowley and
H. P. Lovecraft, Bowie became convinced that it was his late father trying to
contact him from the next world.
Such was the mentality that produced the title track of his third LP, a
vignette that co-opted the “man who wasn’t there” from Hearst Mearns’s 1899
nursery rhyme “Antigonish,” which had previously been set to music in the
swing era. The singer’s voice was drenched with phasing to suit the spooky
narrative, and double-tracked at emphatic moments (at the word “surprise,” the
two Bowies sing with comically varied intonation). New recruit Mick Ronson,
fresh from gigging with Bowie and bassist Tony Visconti in the short-lived
superhero-rock band Hype, provided the record’s spiraling, Eastern-flavored
guitar motif.
Hidden away on an album full of proto-metal—and with a controversial
cover on which the singer reclined like a mermaid in a “man’s dress” from Mr.
Fish—the song was overlooked by the record-buying public. A post-Ziggy
reissue of Bowie’s back catalog in 1972 brought it to wider attention, but it
achieved its greatest recognition thanks to an unplugged cover by Nirvana,
released posthumously in 1995. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“It was an important album for me,” wrote George Harrison in 2000, “and a
timely vehicle for all the songs I’d been writing during the last period with The
Beatles.” Having fought to squeeze his songs onto the Fab Four’s records,
Harrison splurged on a triple album for his first solo outing.
All Things Must Pass featured guests such as Eric Clapton, Ringo Starr, and
the then unknown Phil Collins. Harrison’s chief collaborator, though, was
producer Phil Spector, who had overseen John Lennon’s “Instant Karma” and a
controversial mix of The Beatles’ Let It Be. In a letter to Harrison, Spector
judged a demo of a song on Side Three: “The mixes I heard had the voice too
buried . . . I’m sure we could do better.”
That demo was “Awaiting on You All,” Harrison’s most rapturously
uplifting song since 1967’s “It’s All Too Much.” He would later admit to
misgivings about Spector’s overwhelming production, but here it only adds to
the excitement. And while the lyrics advocate the Krishna philosophy of
“chanting the names of the Lord,” Harrison throws in a wry reference to the
pope’s owning “fifty-one per cent of General Motors”—and you suddenly
remember that this is the man who wrote “Taxman.”
The album became best known for the hit “My Sweet Lord,” but “Awaiting
on You All” has a timeless exuberance that even Beatles-haters should
experience. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Northern Sky
Nick Drake (1970)
Writer | Nick Drake Producer | Joe Boyd Label | Island Album | Bryter Layter
(1970)
“The greatest English love song of modern times,” proclaimed U.K. music
magazine NME in 2009 about a song nearly forty years old by an artist who
never found success during his brief lifetime.
“Northern Sky” was one of two collaborations with John Cale, co-founder of
The Velvet Underground, who had worked with producer Joe Boyd on a Nico
album and become intrigued with Drake’s music. Cale persuaded Boyd to let
him work with Drake to develop “Northern Sky”, incorporating an ethereal bell-
chiming celesta and perfectly blended piano and organ parts behind Drake’s
favorite acoustic guitar tunings of DADGDG and breathy murmurings. Cale was
also responsible for the middle break leading to a soaring vocal refrain from
Drake—arguably his most uplifting on record.
Robert Kirby’s beguiling chamber-ensemble string arrangements are key to
many of Drake’s songs and appear elsewhere on Bryter Later, but not here. In
truth, their presence might have compromised the glowing simplicity of this
piece. (“Never felt magic crazy as this”—is there a better, more direct way of
describing love?) Kirby told Drake biographer Patrick Humphries that he felt it
could have been a single, and recalled that Drake seemed buoyed by the
sessions. “I think he felt this was going to be the one,” Kirby mused years later,
in words that, necessarily, now seem poignant. JJH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Maybe I’m Amazed” was written by Paul McCartney in 1969 for his new wife,
Linda. With a George Harrison-esque guitar and Billy Preston-style organ, he
single-handedly created something that was every scrap as good as anything in
The Beatles’ recent catalog—and it was created without all the attendant
acrimony that had so dogged his old group’s final eighteen months. Just the
song, in fact, that McCartney needed to give him confidence in the dark days
around the band’s demise, as demonstrated in the lines, “Maybe I’m a lonely
man in the middle of something that he doesn’t really understand.”
It is the one track on the largely home-recorded, self-produced McCartney
album that didn’t feel deliberately underdone—except possibly its fade-out,
which simply collapses into thin air. Yet that only leaves you wanting more. A
later, live version from Wings Over America finally placated the fans who had
wanted the album track released as a single; it reached the U.S. Top Ten in 1977.
That and subsequent live versions are polished and professional, with the added
coda McCartney was going to use in the original, but none of these quite hits the
spot as did the tentative wonder of the 1970 recording.
“Maybe I’m Amazed” is the only one of Paul McCartney’s solo songs to
make the Rolling Stone Top 500 Songs of All Time list, at No. 338. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
It is all too fitting that the working title of this blue-eyed soul classic was “Into
the Misty,” as the literal meaning of its lyric is shrouded in a haze. At first listen,
the song seems to tell the tale of a lovelorn sailor headed home to his beloved.
Van Morrison himself was not completely certain, either. When documenting the
lyric for his publishers at Warner Brothers, he couldn’t decide if the first line
was “We were born before the wind” or “We were borne before the wind.” His
reported confusion with subsequent lines (were they younger than the sun or the
son?) makes it clear the song is more about a feeling than a story.
The pure, rapturous passion of the track belied Morrison’s hard road to
musical independence. His initial efforts at a solo career after leaving the group
Them were marked by a contentious working relationship with producer Bert
Berns. Once he was finally making music on his own terms, he realized his
singular voice on Astral Weeks in 1968. Yet it wasn’t until the LP Moondance
that he assembled a working band to help him get just the sound he wanted. No
song on that album stands out as strongly as “Into the Mystic.”
While time has proven the song’s greatness, earning a place on lists of the
best songs of all time, it was never released as a single. Only “Come Running”
gained that honor at the time, with “Moondance” getting a delayed release in
1977. TS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | James Brown, Bobby Byrd, Ron Lenhoff Producer | James Brown
Label | King Album | N/A
“Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine” marks a change of emphasis, and
perhaps the beginning of the end, for the Godfather of Soul. In March 1970,
James Brown’s funk juggernaut had hit a pothole with the departures of tenor
saxophonist Maceo Parker, guitarists Jimmy Nolen and Country Kellum, and
most of the rest of the James Brown Orchestra. Drummer Jabo Starks remained,
along with organist/singer Bobby Byrd, but a whole new band was required.
Enter The JB’s, led by bassist Bootsy Collins and his rhythm-guitarist
brother, Catfish. The Collins brothers found the groove that pins “Get Up (I Feel
Like Being a) Sex Machine,” relegating the usually prominent horn section to
the stabbed opening—and anywhere else Brown felt like introducing it, as he
snaked through the song, letting the rhythm do its thing, trading plans with Byrd.
Legendary pay disputes, along with the odd fine for duff notes, had strained
Brown’s relationship with his Orchestra, but The JB’s had no such beef with
their boss. “Things kinda changed a bit,” noted Bootsy in 2002, “because he
couldn’t really threaten us with fines or taking anything from us as we never had
nothing no way.” Brown’s unaffected young cohorts gave him fresh vigor to
face up to the threat from the next generation of funkateers—Sly Stone, Isaac
Hayes—and find a new beat. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Ohio
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young (1970)
The death of four Kent State University students, shot by the National Guard in
Ohio during a protest on May 4, 1970, was the inspiration behind this one-off
Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young single—one of rock’s most resonant protest songs.
Pressed into action when David Crosby showed him harrowing photos of the
shootings published in Life magazine, Neil Young wrote the song in a day; the
members of Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young then promptly convened in the
Record Plant Studios, Sausalito, California. The recording was more of a team
effort than anything on the recent Déjà vu album, which, though hugely
successful, had mostly showcased four separate performers. “Ohio” was
captured live in the studio, ragged harmonies and all, and simmering with
audible outrage at the shootings. “Neil wrote ‘Ohio’ on Monday and recorded it
at Record Plant in Hollywood and it was on the airways by Friday; that is just
unheard of and I’ll never forget it, we got ‘Ohio’ in one take,” explained
drummer Johnny Barbata, who was hastily called up for the session.
The dread conveyed in lines such as “tin soldiers and Nixon coming”
contrasted sharply with CSN&Y’s country-rock single taken from Déjà vu,
Graham Nash’s “Teach Your Children.” Nevertheless, the rush-release of the
guitar-driven “Ohio” meant that CSN&Y registered two Top Twenty Billboard
hits in the month of June 1970. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The beginning of the end for the titans of folk rock came when Art Garfunkel
flew down to Mexico to spend five months playing Nately in Mike Nichols’s
film of Joseph Heller’s Catch-22. Paul Simon was left alone in NYC, penning
tracks for their LP Bridge over Troubled Water, an experience commemorated in
this wistful, meditative ballad.
Given the subsequent acrimony of their breakup, the lyrics could be read as a
passive-aggressive dig at the frizzy-haired absentee, but Garfunkel remembers
the song as filled with nothing but affection. By addressing the first line to
“Tom” rather than Art, Simon harks right back to the partnership’s teenage
origins—as Tom & Jerry, the duo had charted in 1957 with the Everly Brothers–
styled “Hey, Schoolgirl.”
The recording itself builds from the strummed guitar of a lone busker into a
lush, layered melancholy, thanks to Larry Knechtel’s devotional organ chords,
drummer Hal Blaine’s Ringo-esque thumps, and Joe Osborn’s funky bass
flourishes. Just over a minute in, aaahing voices bring to mind the rich choral
harmonies on Side Two of The Beatles’ Abbey Road, released only a few months
beforehand. This sixteen-strong choir is comprised entirely of Paul Simon and
Art Garfunkel, recorded in an echo chamber and doubled up half a dozen times.
It’s like hearing those old musical friends jointly heave a last, melodic sigh. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In a Broken Dream
Python Lee Jackson (1970)
Who was the mysterious Python Lee Jackson? The answer is that he was not one
man, but four—an Australian beat group who moved to Swinging London with
the intention of making it big. Singer David Bentley was armed with a very
palpable hit—an angsty breakup ballad called “In a Broken Dream”—but shortly
before recording it in 1968, he heard Joe Cocker’s histrionic version of “With a
Little Help from My Friends” belting from a boutique doorway, and realized that
his own voice was not ideal for the material.
The band was signed to John Peel’s imprint, Dandelion Records, at the time;
the DJ suggested that Rod Stewart, a sandpaper-voiced mod who was at that
time between bands, might provide a guide vocal. The result was one of the
definitive performances of Stewart’s career, a world-weary and nuanced reading
that perfectly suited the song’s mood of despairing denial, but it remained
unreleased until 1970—and did not chart until a reissue cashed in on his post-
Faces fame in 1972. By then, the charts were fizzing with bubblegum and glam,
and “In a Broken Dream” seemed a vestige of a bygone time. Bentley’s laidback
Hammond and Jamie Byrne’s bass are cut from the Procol Harum template,
while Mick Liber’s brain-fried guitar work owes much to Bay Area psychedelic
bands such as Big Brother & The Holding Company (with Stewart as a male
Janis Joplin). SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Oh Lonesome Me
Neil Young (1970)
Close-harmony group The Maytals had formed in 1962, initially working with
producer Clement “Coxsone” Dodd at his Studio One label. The group went on
to record with Prince Buster and Byron Lee, with limited success, before two
factors were to dramatically change their fate.
Lead vocalist Fred “Toots” Hibbert was jailed for possession of marijuana.
After his release, the band renamed themselves Toots & The Maytals and found
a new home at Chinese–Jamaican Leslie Kong’s Beverley’s label, moves that
saw them become the biggest ska crossover group to date.
Hibbert drew upon his time in prison for the lyrical theme of “54-46 That’s
My Number,” the forerunner of this track, though the actual prison number was
invented; it featured in the score (though not the soundtrack album) of Jimmy
Cliff’s The Harder They Come (1972). The song is a protest of the singer’s
innocence, as Hibbert claimed the real reason for his imprisonment was for
having bailed out a friend, rather than the stated drugs charge. This more
dynamic follow-up version, featuring a rousing vocal intro and subtly retitled
“54-46 Was My Number,” proved to be a hugely popular song both in Jamaica
and overseas, and was to be the first of a string of hits for the group.
The prison and protest themes of the track became an influence for the
politicized sections of the punk movement, particularly The Clash. CR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | John Lennon Producer | John Lennon, Yoko Ono, Phil Spector Label |
Apple
Album | Plastic Ono Band (1970)
John Lennon’s first solo album followed four months of primal-scream therapy
with New York psychologist Dr. Arthur Janov, a period that saw him facing his
legion of demons. An almost motherless adolescence; the breakup of his band
and the support system he resented; the paradox of his iconoclasm; guilt; and
contempt for his middle-class upbringing—it was all poured into Plastic Ono
Band.
As Paul McCartney settled into bucolia and George Harrison spread his
wings at last, the other songwriting Beatle had some scores to settle, not least
with himself. The conspicuously Dylanesque “Working Class Hero” drips with
disdain, typical sarcasm, and bitterness. The song makes its point starkly, in
rough-picked folk and a half-spoken, half-sung sneer. There is no respite. As if
the song were not already robust enough, Lennon completes his alienation of the
more staid elements of his audience with two spits of the word “fucking,” the
second his memorable dismissal of the “peasants” we will always be. “I put it in
because it fit,” he told Rolling Stone, aware of its effect.
While it’s not exclusively personal—education, the daily drudge, corporate
fat cats all take a hit—this is Lennon’s experience. “I hope it’s just a warning to
people,” he once ventured, but even a flawed hero has his acolytes. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Box of Rain
The Grateful Dead (1970)
It’s a good thing that Phil Lesh knew how to play the bass—since he wasn’t ever
going to make it as a vocalist. Still, it’s ironic that one of the few Grateful Dead
tunes that Lesh sang, with his brittle, reedy voice, would become one of the most
significant pages in the group’s mighty songbook.
The fragile, acoustic-flavored ballad “Box of Rain,” so different from the
heady psychedelic jams that the band was known for in concert, was composed
by Lesh as a tribute to his father, who was dying from cancer. The bassist then
handed the music to outside lyricist Robert Hunter, who would pen most of the
group’s classics. Hunter, obviously moved by the occasion, scribbled down the
words that would secure his legend as one of the hippie nation’s finest
songwriters.
Sharing much in common with another Dead staple, “Ripple,” the song was
deeply poetic. It was built on one man’s experience, yet the message was
universal. Lesh’s strained voice, choking with emotion, was difficult to listen to
once one knew the backstory to the song, but also the perfect vehicle to convey
its sentiment. Lesh accompanied himself on acoustic guitar, while David Nelson
swung the electric axe and Jerry Garcia sat at piano.
The tune was included on the Dead’s country-folk masterpiece American
Beauty. It was never released as a single, yet that didn’t stop it from becoming a
fan favorite at concerts. JiH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Life on Mars?
David Bowie (1971)
“This song was so easy . . .” declared David Bowie in 2008, tongue firmly in
cheek. However, “Life on Mars?” had anything but a straightforward genesis.
In 1968, Bowie had written “Even a Fool Learns to Love,” its lyrics set to
the music of a French song from 1967, “Comme d’habitude,” recorded by one of
its writers, Claude François. Bowie’s song went unreleased, while Paul Anka
bought the rights to the original French version, and rewrote it into “My Way.”
Bowie duly wrote “Life on Mars?” as a parody of Frank Sinatra’s recording of
Anka’s song. “There was a sense of revenge in that,” he admitted. The liner
notes of Hunky Dory—the album on which the song first appeared—described
the song as “inspired by Frankie.”
The new lyrics concerned “a sensitive young girl’s reaction to the media.” “I
started working it out on the piano and had the whole lyric and melody finished
by late afternoon . . .” Bowie told The Mail on Sunday. “Rick Wakeman came
over a couple of weeks later and embellished the piano part and guitarist Mick
Ronson created one of his first and best string parts.” “The songs were
unbelievable,” Wakeman marveled. “‘Changes,’ ‘Life on Mars?,’ one after
another.”
Released in 1973 as a single to cash in on the success of Ziggy Stardust,
“Life on Mars?” was a U.K. hit. It reached No. 3 and stayed in the charts for
thirteen weeks. (The song has since been covered by artists from Barbra
Streisand to Arcade Fire.) A striking promotional video, directed by
photographer Mick Rock, features Bowie in his orange-haired pomp and
wearing a turquoise suit against a brilliant-white backdrop. “I still couldn’t tell
you what it’s about,” reflected Rock in 2008, “but that’s art.” BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
After forming as a slightly fey psychedelic-folk group in the late 1960s, Marc
Bolan and Tyrannosaurus Rex were riding high in the U.K. charts with their
single “Ride a White Swan” when they headed to the United States for a short
tour early in 1971. A session in New York provided the first tracks for the
Electric Warrior album (the group’s first as T. Rex), but it was in L.A. that
Bolan and producer Tony Visconti really struck gold. Hooking up with Mark
Volman and Howard Kaylan—Turtles singers who had recently worked with
Frank Zappa—at Kaylan’s house in Laurel Canyon after a gig, the band jammed
out an idea that Bolan had been working on as a tribute to a Chuck Berry’s
“Little Queenie” from 1959, the flip side of “Almost Grown.” Keeping some of
Berry’s lyrics (the final recorded version pays tribute to Berry in its fade-out,
borrowing a line of his), the result was a handy summation of the glam-rock
phenomenon, combining urgent rock ’n’ roll with post-hippy posturing. (“When
we do it live, it goes on for twenty minutes sometimes and it’s just loaded with
guitar solos,” an ebullient Bolan told an interviewer in 1972.)
The song, titled “Bang a Gong (Get It On)” to avoid its being confused with
a hit of the same name by the band Chase, became Bolan’s only major hit in the
United States. It sold nearly a million copies in the United Kingdom at the peak
of “T-Rextasy.” By 1972, T. Rex were selling out arenas in their home country
and Ringo Starr had signed up to make a documentary (Born to Boogie) about
them. Only a few years later, however, the band had all but split, and Bolan was
killed in an automobile accident in September 1977, just a fortnight before his
thirtieth birthday. PL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Blackwater Side
Anne Briggs (1971)
Scottish folk musician Bert Jansch maintains that, in the context of the British
folk scene, Anne Briggs “was more akin to a punk than to anything that had
gone before.” Young, attractive, and wild, Briggs left her Nottingham home in
1962, aged seventeen, to join a touring folk revue, and soon made her name in
London’s folk clubs. Her erratic nature and reluctance to record only added to
her legend, which continues to grow even today.
Briggs released an EP, Hazards of Love, in 1964 and, with singer Frankie
Armstrong and folklorist A.L. Lloyd, an album of “traditional erotic songs” two
years later. The folk revival was then in full bloom, and Briggs was one of its
leading lights. Yet she spent much of the rest of the Sixties rambling drunkenly
around England and Ireland, avoiding anything that might have been termed a
“career.”
Before she disappeared, Briggs’s repertoire had included “Blackwater Side,”
a traditional song learned from Lloyd. Jansch learned it from Briggs in the early
1960s, recording it on his Jack Orion album in 1966. Jimmy Page learned it
from Jack Orion, retitling it “Black Mountain Side” on Led Zeppelin’s debut in
1969. Briggs recorded this delicate version for her own belated debut in 1971. A
second album followed the same year. Blocking the release of an album entitled
Sing a Song for You (recorded in 1973, but unreleased until 1996), she’s barely
sung in public since. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The musicians who came to be known as Crazy Horse formed around guitarist-
singer Danny Whitten in Canton, Ohio, in 1962. Shifting to San Francisco, they
became The Rockets, a hot bar band. An L.A. gig led Neil Young to employ
them as his backing band on the excellent Everyone Knows This Is Nowhere
album (1969), on which Whitten and Young traded vocals and guitar interplay.
Producer Jack Nitzsche named the band Crazy Horse and began sitting in with
them on piano.
After Young fired Crazy Horse from the After the Gold Rush recording
sessions, because of Whitten’s heroin addiction, the group absorbed Nitzsche,
guitarist Nils Lofgren, and a recording contract with Warner Bros. This unit
recorded one album featuring five remarkable Whitten songs. Sadly, Whitten’s
continuing drug problems forced the rest of the band into firing him.
“I Don’t Want to Talk About It” is a plaintive ballad, and Whitten’s
mournful voice and pleading lyrics might, in a lesser talent, belong to the navel-
gazing singer-songwriter school. Yet the beauty of the melody, the taut interplay
between the musicians—Ry Cooder adds exemplary slide guitar—the
atmosphere of immense, almost silent, grief, shaped a song of rare beauty.
Whitten’s spirit exudes a bruised despair. “I Don’t Want to Talk About It” could
be his hymn to a lover or to heroin, the drug that killed him in 1972. GC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
A Case of You
Joni Mitchell (1971)
Crayon Angels
Judee Sill (1971)
Writer | Judee Sill Producer | Henry Lewy Label | Asylum Album | Judee Sill
(1971)
How could such a troubled background produce such a sweet, heavenly sound?
A short life punctuated by episodes of reform school, heavy drug-taking,
prostitution, and jail somehow managed to produce one of America’s most gifted
but overlooked songwriters.
“Crayon Angels” was the first track on Judee Sill’s debut album and, as a
result, the first release on David Geffen’s new label, Asylum Records. Although
Sill’s music was gorgeously easy on the ear, the beauty of the song’s melody
contrasted greatly with her powerful lyrics. “Phony prophets stole the only light
I knew” seemed a dig at music business bigwigs. Even Geffen, initially a big
champion of Sill, couldn’t devote enough time to nurturing her fragile career
after Jackson Browne and the Eagles began their rich run of success for Asylum.
The record deal did give Sill the security to buy a place in California’s
songwriting haven, Laurel Canyon, but, although a second album followed,
commercial success did not. Sill died in 1979, aged thirty-five, but a reappraisal
of her work culminated in the release of Crayon Angel: A Tribute to the Music of
Judee Sill in 2009. An appreciation of her work has surfaced through a new
wave of bands typified by Fleet Foxes, who often include “Crayon Angels” in
their live performances. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Chalte Chalte
Lata Mangeshkar (1971)
Choosing only one song to represent an artist once listed in Guinness World
Records as the most recorded singer in history isn’t easy. Nor is counting the
songs she’s voiced as a “playback singer” in around 1,200 Bollywood movies,
during a career that began in 1942. One of Lata Mangeshkar’s personal favorites,
though, and a song that was very popular in India, is “Chalte Chalte,” from the
1971 movie Pakeezah.
The film’s title means “pure of heart,” and it concerns a thwarted romance
between an aristocrat and a prostitute, played by director Amrohi’s then wife,
Meena Kumari. Having started work on the film, Amrohi and Kumari
subsequently divorced, and the film was abandoned; they later reunited to
complete it, but it was more than ten years before it made it to the screen. At
first, Pakeezah received a lukewarm response from the public, but when Kumari
died soon after its release, it became a hit. The film is now remembered as much
for its soundtrack as its story.
In the performance of “Chalte Chalte” in the film, Kumari lip-synchs along
to Mangeshkar’s honeyed, high-pitched voice. There is a folkloric, light classical
flavor to the accompaniment, with an initial flourish on santoor (dulcimer)
before the percussion, sarangi, and sitar kick in. Near the end, there is a
shrieking train whistle motif, which features several times in the movie. JLu
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Maggie May
Rod Stewart (1971)
“Bob Dylan hit it on the head when he said, ‘You don’t write songs,
you discover them.’”
Rod Stewart, 1976
Imagine
John Lennon (1971)
“The idea for a song like ‘Imagine’ came out of Yoko’s influence.”
John Lennon, 1972
Considering its ubiquity, it seems unthinkable that “Imagine” was not a single in
the United Kingdom until it was used to promote Shaved Fish’s collection of
singles and other John Lennon flotsam in 1975, four years after it was first
heard. Even then, it reached only No. 6 in the charts—hardly the performance of
a future standard.
As the title track of Lennon’s second solo album, “Imagine” spearheaded a
set of tracks far less stark and confrontational than Plastic Ono Band in 1970.
With that primal howl of a record, Lennon had worked out a few (very) personal
issues—although there would be a notorious dig at former colleague Paul
McCartney on Imagine’s “How Do You Sleep?”
“Imagine” is a sly dog. Its pillowy sound and simple lyric—a trope inspired
by Yoko Ono’s potted philosophy in Lennon’s treasured copy of her Grapefruit
book—not to mention the song’s rather vague exhortations, disguise subversive
ideas. Lennon himself suggested that it was “virtually the Communist
manifesto,” and it would have that clout if taken literally. However, people being
people, exposure has watered its message down to platitude.
“Imagine” was reissued following Lennon’s murder in December 1980. This
time, it claimed the No. 1 spot that its timeless melody and Lennon’s persuasive
vocal deserved, joining “(Just Like) Starting Over” and “Woman” in a near-
consecutive triumvirate of U.K. chart-toppers as a nation grieved. From there, it
began its weary journey via cover versions, awards, and ever-more-frequent
polls to unimpeachable classic status. Peer through the baubles, though, and
there’s still a song in there. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Laughing
David Crosby (1971)
Three years before this song’s eventual release, ex-Byrd David Crosby was
searching for a solo deal in L.A., hawking an acoustic guitar–and-voice demo of
“Laughing” as his calling card. He touted it to Paul Rothchild (producer of Love
and The Doors, among others) and, encouraged by John Sebastian, cut another
version. But then came Crosby, Stills & Nash and a monster first album, plus an
era-defining Woodstock set, so the song went on the back burner.
“Laughing” finally surfaced on his all-star solo album and as the B-side to
the single “Music is Love.” The laid-back Laurel Canyon set (including Graham
Nash) teamed up with the Haight-Ashbury hippies (such as Jefferson Airplane’s
Paul Kantner and Grace Slick) to concoct a West Coast, good-vibe, meandering
masterpiece.
Recorded at San Francisco’s new hip Wally Heider Recording, the
“Laughing” sessions comprised Crosby and a kernel of The Grateful Dead,
including Jerry Garcia on pedal steel guitar, Phil Lesh providing a beefy bass
sound, and Bill Kreutzmann on drums. Joni Mitchell, one of Crosby’s former
lovers, also lends her characteristic vocals. The song is laden with echo and
overdubs, and Garcia’s otherworldly pedal steel guitar is simply stunning.
Crosby himself provides sparkling twelve-string guitar as well as his glorious,
multi-tracked voice. JJH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Memphis Minnie, John Paul Jones, John Bonham, Robert Plant
Producer | Jimmy Page
Label | Atlantic
Album | Led Zeppelin IV (1971)
Surf’s Up
The Beach Boys (1971)
Writer | Brian Wilson, Van Dyke Parks Producer | The Beach Boys Label |
Brother
Album | Surf’s Up (1971)
A lesser song might buckle under the weight of its legend, but the wryly titled
“Surf’s Up” only tantalizes all the more. On its belated release in 1971, it offered
a glimpse of the rumored majesty of Brian Wilson’s abandoned Smile project,
surpassing the snippets that had emerged in one form or another since 1967—
with the exception, perhaps, of “Good Vibrations.” Whatever the relative merits,
Smile’s mooted centerpiece, “Surf’s Up,” was a different kettle of fish, a pop
symphony out of place and out of time.
Wilson finally got around to finishing Smile in 2004, but, apart from the
bootlegs and half-conceived songs strewn across Smiley Smile (1967) and 20/20
(1969), we’re still a frustrating step removed from what The Beach Boys
themselves would have made of it.
With Wilson marginalized by his own design and mental state, the remaining
Beach Boys obviously realized there was value in “Surf’s Up,” and Carl Wilson
set about rebuilding the track from demo material and new input for the album
that would bear its name. It’s his characteristically pure vocal hitting the high
notes in the first half of the song, with Brian’s demo guide taking over for the
second movement. “The vocal on that was a little limited,” Brian later admitted,
“but it did have heart.” And it did, wringing beauty and poignancy out of Parks’s
wild poetry. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
A small, seismic shift occurred in popular music when this double A-side (with
“I Feel the Earth Move”) reached Billboard’s No. 1 spot on June 19, 1971, and
stayed there for five weeks. It was the calling card for an album, Tapestry, that
went on to shift twenty-two million copies, pick up four Grammys, and set the
template for the Seventies singer-songwriter boom.
A pumping piano kicks off over a gently laid-back, percussion-driven jazz
samba as King plays a string of figures and a catchy riff. Then, with clear-
headed emotional intensity tinged with a homey Jewish Brooklyn twang, King
(née Klein) sets out Toni Stern’s new-feminist take on a relationship breakup
that’s too far gone to patch up. It’s like a note left on the fridge door—she’s
leaving him on her terms, but “I’m glad for what we had.” “I want songs of
hope, songs of love, songs of raw feeling,” King told interviewer Barry Miles in
1976. “Not songs about spacey things like ‘In the Canyons of My Mind’ with
butterflies fluttering about.”
Recorded at A&M in the old Charlie Chaplin Films Studio on Hollywood’s
Sunset Boulevard, the let-it-all-hang-out lyrics are carried by a virtually live
take, courtesy of consummate L.A. studio musicianship. The verse-chorus
segues nicely into some cool jazz-guitar grooves by Danny Kortchmar that blend
into a soprano-sax lick from Curtis Amy, while King interplays on electronic
keyboards. JJH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Anand Bakshi, Rahul Dev Burman Producer | Rahul Dev Burman
Label | Saregama India Ltd.
Album | N/A
Asha Bhosle was born in Bombay, British India, in 1933, and during her long
life she has become arguably the most recorded singer in history. She is
especially well known as a Bollywood “playback singer”—these are the singers
whose voices come out of the movie stars in the Bollywood movies.
She began working as a playback singer in 1943—her older sister, Lata
Mangeshkar, was already doing so—and after a disastrous marriage was left to
raise three children alone. She raised the funds to bring them up by singing for
Bollywood soundtracks. By her own accounts, she has now recorded more than
12,000 songs.
“Dum Maro Dum” was recorded in 1971 for the film Hare Krishna Hare
Rama and finds Bhosle working with the great Bollywood composer R. D.
Burman. This film takes as its theme the migration of Western hippies to Asia,
and as the song is played actress Zeenat Aman mimes along on screen, smoking
a spliff. (The title of the track translates as “Puff, take a puff.”) Burman cleverly
mixes Bollywood effects with rock guitars and psychedelic effects while Asha’s
high-pitched voice races along with the frantic music, almost crashing into the
repeated “ah ah ah”s from Usha Lyer and the chant of “Hare Krishna Hare
Rama.” “Dum Maro Dum” demonstrates just how crazy, funny, and inventive
Bollywood soundtracks can be, at their best. GC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Al Green
Producer | Willie Mitchell
Label | Hi
Album | Al Green Gets Next to You (1971)
It took time and a skilled producer to develop the distinctively sensuous voice of
U.S. soul legend Al Green. At the age of ten, Albert Greene, as he then was, had
started singing in the Greene Brothers gospel quartet with his siblings. Caught
listening to Jackie Wilson by his father, he was ejected from both the group and
the family home.
Green wanted to be a soul singer and sing like his heroes Jackie Wilson,
Wilson Pickett, and James Brown. Willie Mitchell, of Memphis’s Hi Records,
recognized Green’s talent but also realized his singing skills lay not in forceful
soul and R&B but in a more relaxed, personal style. His debut album in 1969,
Green Is Blues, was a compilation of slow, horn-driven ballads—mostly cover
versions of popular songs—but was only a moderate hit. The follow-up, Al
Green Gets Next to You, consisted almost entirely of Al Green originals and was
a huge success.
The song sets Green’s sinewy, slightly strained falsetto against a chiming
guitar, bass, and insistent drumbeat cushioned by wordless backing vocals, the
whole punctuated by abrupt unison interruptions from The Memphis Horn
Section. As Green laments his loneliness, the song builds to an anguished
climax. It was a peerless piece of music from a collaboration that dominated soul
until personal tragedy sent Green back to the church and to ordination as a pastor
in Memphis in 1976. SA
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“It’s interesting that the song has actually been taken as a kind of
anthem when really it’s such a cautionary piece.”
Pete Townshend, 1989
Vincent
Don McLean (1971)
Inspired by: The Starry Night (painting) • Vincent van Gogh (1889)
Inspiration for: “Starry Night” • Tupac Shakur (1999)
Covered by: Chet Atkins (1972) • The King’s Singers (1989) • Justin
Hayward (1994) • Josh Groban (2001) • Rick Astley (2005)
Don McLean does a fine line in musical obituaries. His most famous might be
“American Pie,” wherein he recalls the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly,
Ritchie Valens, and The Big Bopper, but arguably his best is “Vincent.” Often
overshadowed by “American Pie,” the wistful “Vincent,” which recounted
Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh’s life and death, still captured a sizeable fan
base and was internationally more successful than its predecessor (U.S. No. 12;
U.K. No. 1).
Hearing it, it is little wonder that “Vincent”—which was played daily at the
Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam throughout the 1970s—won the hearts of its
listeners. The charts may have favored the libertine stylings of the previous
decade, but in “Vincent,” McLean trod a quieter path. Referencing the artist’s
schizophrenia, suicide, and relentless drive for perfection, his subtle song has a
reverential delicacy. Accompanying this with a simple riff and his unwavering,
melodious voice, McLean pays his respect to the misunderstood painter in a way
that makes his life and death easier to empathize with.
Somewhat unusually for a chart hit, “Vincent” is extraordinarily intimate. In
its gentle climax, McLean is momentarily unaided by music and addresses the
artist directly: “But I could have told you Vincent This world was never meant
for one as beautiful as you.”
“I got criticized for the kinds of things I wrote sometimes,” McLean
reflected in 2003. “‘American Pie’ was too long and couldn’t be a hit; ‘Vincent’
was too weird.” Thankfully, McLean was and is no walkover, and his “weird”
song became a long-overdue eulogy for the late artist and set a precedent for
singer-songwriters everywhere. KBo
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Outside of folk-music circles, Steve Goodman was never a major star. He did
have a taste of commercial success as a recording artist with “Jessie’s Jig and
Other Favorites,” but his real claim to fame was as a “songwriter’s songwriter.”
Goodman died in 1984, a thirty-six-year-old victim of leukemia, but by then
he had already secured his legacy with “City of New Orleans.” Released on his
self-titled debut album, the song wasn’t actually about Crescent City itself, but
about a “southbound odyssey” from Chicago, Illinois, to New Orleans on the
nightly passenger train known as the City of New Orleans.
Goodman’s lyrics, which balanced patriotism and realism in Woody
Guthrie–like fashion, transported listeners across every mile of the trip, “past
houses, farms, and fields” and by “freight yards full of old black men.” His
understated delivery—rising up on the chorus, “Good morning, America, how
are you?”—and finger-picked guitar made the number feel like some long-lost
train song from back in Boxcar Willie’s day. In time, it would become a country-
folk classic, but it took other voices to get it there.
Artists to cover the song include Arlo Guthrie, Johnny Cash, and John
Denver. However, the best-known version is Willie Nelson’s chart-topper in
1984, which earned its songwriter a posthumous Grammy for Best Country
Song. JiH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Peace Train
Cat Stevens (1971)
When he appeared on The Chris Isaak Hour in 2009, Cat Stevens said of this
much-loved song: “Musically, I was revisiting a very Greek-sounding riff—the
kind of thing you’d hear on a Greek island.” The song reached No. 7 on the
Billboard Hot 100 chart, Stevens’s first Top Ten hit stateside. Spiritually,
though, Stevens’s chart-topping hit was about more than channeling his Greek-
Cypriot roots: “Peace Train” was a reaction to the horrors of the Vietnam War.
Perhaps because of its unashamed optimism, it soon became a hippie anthem.
Surprisingly, chart success was not repeated across the Atlantic: Island Records
refused to release the single outside of the United States, in a bid to encourage
fans to buy the album.
“Peace Train” embodies a snapshot in time for Stevens, capitalizing on the
spiritual journey he began when he became sick with tuberculosis at the age of
nineteen. The singer later mused: “The words were attached to that time, my
peace anthem.” Most recently its sentiments were repeated by the renamed
Yusuf Islam—Cat Stevens famously converted to Islam at the height of his
career, in 1977—in protest about the plight of children in the Iraq War. The song
has become a favorite of Yusuf in the years following his Muslim conversion.
Fittingly, he performed it at the Nobel Peace Prize ceremony for Bangladeshi
economist Muhammad Yunus in 2006. KL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Superstar
The Carpenters (1971)
“Superstar” could have been a disaster for The Carpenters. Singer Karen
Carpenter thought her brother Richard was “crazy” to suggest the song—a
desperate plea from a groupie yearning to sleep with a rock star, which was
miles away from their cutesy remit.
Luckily, Richard saw the pop potential in the bittersweet track, which had
already been released as a B-side by Delaney & Bonnie under the title “Groupie
(Superstar).” It was subsequently covered by Bette Midler, Cher, and Rita
Coolidge in Joe Cocker’s Mad Dogs and Englishmen revue. “I came home from
the studio one night and heard a then relatively unknown Bette Midler
performing this song on the Tonight Show,” Richard recalled. “I could barely
wait to arrange and record it.”
Ditching “I can hardly wait to sleep with you again” and replacing it with
“be with you again” clearly boosted its chances of appealing to Carpenters fans,
but it was Richard’s souped-up arrangements that really morphed “Superstar”
into the triumphant belter it is today.
The opening hoots of an oboe give the song a doleful quality that eclipses its
raunchy subject matter. Richard’s assured semiorchestral horns and strings in the
chorus and deft backing vocals complement Karen’s affecting, velvety contralto
laments perfectly, making the song both more epic and more emotive than
earlier versions. KBo See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Marvin Gaye, James Nyx Producer | Marvin Gaye Label | Tamla
Album | What’s Going On (1971)
The third single from Gaye’s What’s Going On LP lacks the dope-haze sense of
optimism of the title track and finds the singer staring into the abyss. With Eddie
“Bongo” Brown and bassist Bob Babbitt leading the musicians, the Motown
house band conjures up a Latin-flavored voodoo funk from the opening second:
if listeners thought all this talk about God and love and ecology meant there was
some kind of redemption due to humankind, they were in for a quick, hard
lesson in reality.
That Gaye was a master at screwing up his personal life should come as no
surprise; here he passes on what he knows to the government: “Rockets, moon
shots, spend it on the have-nots,” he urges an administration more concerned
with glory than lives. (A sentiment echoed seventeen years later in Prince’s
“Sign o’ the Times”: “Sister killed her baby ‘cause she couldn’t afford to feed it
/ And we’re sending people to the moon.”) Gaye had firsthand experience of
these polarized priorities: his brother Frankie served in Vietnam. “God knows
where we’re heading,” he adds, but this is a cry of confusion, not of religious
conviction.
Then the mood changes, those malignant influences overcome by a brief
burst of clarity (on the longer, album version). Marvin is left singing with
himself and just his piano. Safe in the arms of his mother, he has returned to the
comfort of “What’s Going On” to see out the LP. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In retrospect, this is the sound of Motown’s hottest ensemble tearing itself apart
—the vocal quintet would soon sack their producer, thus initiating their own
decline. Nevertheless, this seven-minute single (a U.S. No. 1) and its near-
twelve-minute album version remain the apex of the psychedelic soul era. That
the singers picked up a solitary Grammy while the writer-producer won two
shows just how successful and divisive their magnum opus was.
The song comes at you in layers. Bass and high-hat, then strings and a guitar,
with a trumpet soloing. Then these disappear and an electric piano fills the space
for a bit, creating a foggy, trancelike mood. You would relax, if it weren’t for
that minatory bass, as ominous as a shark’s fin on the horizon. Four minutes in,
Dennis Edwards begins singing: “It was the third of September, that day I’ll
always remember. . . .” Edwards’s father had died on that date, and Whitfield
used this coincidence to rachet up the tension in the studio. Each of the singers—
Edwards, plus Melvin Franklin, Otis Williams, and recent recruits Damon Harris
and Richard Street—takes it in turn now to ask questions of their mother while
dredging up rumors about their father’s reputation. She stonewalls. “Papa was a
rollin’ stone / Wherever he laid his hat was his home.” Wisely, Whitfield lets the
Funk Brothers band fill in the gaps in the story. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
With an immediately recognizable bass line lifted from the Harry J Allstars’
1969 classic “The Liquidator” and sun-soaked soul backing from The Muscle
Shoals Rhythm Section, The Staple Singers’ first U.S. No. 1 single is a long way
from Pops Staples’s gospel roots. After signing to Stax in 1968, Pops and his
daughters found their mojo and—with the aid of producer Al Bell—made the
breakthrough with 1971’s “Respect Yourself.” Bell remained on board for “I’ll
Take You There,” penning its repeated refrain and building on “The Liquidator”
to create a mantra for a unified society.
And that’s about the size of it—one aspirational lyric, a big borrowed
groove, and a mix of testifying and James Brown–style encouragement for the
band from singer Mavis Staples. But what might be flimsy in the hands of lesser
talents works here because it is honest. When Mavis pleads, “Let me, let me take
you,” you want to go. Go where, though? Their church turned on The Staple
Singers when they began to rack up the R&B hits, leaving Mavis to protest in
1997: “What other place could you take a person but Heaven?”
Taken at the singer’s word, it almost seems a pity that the promised land of
“I’ll Take You There” is somewhere over the rainbow. It is a message of hope
(“Ain’t no smiling faces / Lying to the races”) delivered with joyous bounce, and
it deserves to be a template, not a pipe dream. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Soul Makossa
Manu Dibango (1972)
Superstition
Stevie Wonder (1972)
With its stridently funky groove, “Superstition” was very different from Stevie
Wonder’s previous Motown hits. And its chart success showed that his mature
style was being warmly appreciated.
This was Wonder’s second U.S. No. 1: the first, “Fingertips, Part 2,” was in
1963, when he had been billed as “Little” Stevie Wonder. In 1971, when
Wonder turned twenty-one, he renegotiated a deal with his old label, securing
complete creative control over and full rights to his own songs. This was
previously unheard of at Motown, but the label eventually capitulated.
The result was what is now known as Wonder’s “classic period,” which
began with Music of My Mind, closely followed by Talking Book—which
included “Superstition” and his next No. 1, “You Are the Sunshine of My Life.”
For these albums, Wonder often played several different instruments,
overdubbing tracks as a sort of virtual one-man band; on “Superstition”
(originally written by Wonder for guitarist Jeff Beck), he played drums and
multiple keyboards to create the complex cross rhythms, ably supported by a
heavy brass riff. But it was his ear-catching use of the Hohner clavinet,
combined with synth sounds developed by Tonto’s Expanding Head Band
(Robert Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil, co-producers with Wonder of Talking
Book) that gave “Superstition” its inimitable sound. MW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Elected
Alice Cooper (1972)
The Rolling Stones were settling into tax exile, the Sex Pistols had yet to form,
and Marilyn Manson was three years old. In 1972, after the authority-baiting
“School’s Out,” Alice Cooper was rock’s No. 1 villain. Los Angeles scenester
Kim Fowley—who later masterminded The Runaways—claimed credit for
inspiring the follow-up to that smash. He met Alice’s producer, Bob Ezrin, who
asked him whether he had any ideas. “Yeah,” replied Fowley, “what about Alice
Cooper for president? Right about election time, you should have this song about
Alice being elected, like a kind of [1968 movie] Wild in the Streets on record.”
The result was “Elected,” a Who-style stormer on stage, based on
“Reflected,” from Alice’s 1969 debut, Pretties for You. In the studio, Ezrin
added orchestral and brass flourishes—much as The Who themselves were to do
on 1973’s Quadrophenia.
The timing could not have been better. “Elected” was released in October
1972, when the Watergate scandal was beginning to envelop Richard Nixon’s
White House. By the time it was immortalized on Billion Dollar Babies, the
song sounded like an incisive comment on hypocrisy and the sick side of the
Seventies (hence its cameo on the soundtrack of 2005’s porno exposé Inside
Deep Throat). For the record, Alice himself was never interested in a political
career. “That,” he told bol.com, “would be my hell.” BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Sam Stone
John Prine (1972)
Writer | John Prine Producer | Arif Mardin Label | Atlantic Album | John
Prine (1972)
In the Seventies, a lot of artists were told they were the “new Bob Dylan,” but
only one released a debut album that was so convincing, Dylan himself showed
up at one gig unannounced and anonymously pitched in on harmonica. Dylan
still names John Prine, a drawling folkie from Chicago, as one of his favorite
songwriters, and has singled out “Sam Stone” as one of the reasons for that.
The song is one of genuine heft and grace, compassionate but unforgiving,
timeless despite being rooted in the politics of its era. While other songs about
the Vietnam War were straightforward protests—even the smarter ones, like
Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son”—Prine decided to write
something different, focusing on a soldier who had served and survived, but
found life at home (“the time that he served / Had shattered all his nerves”)
tougher than Indochina (“But the morphine eased the pain”). The key is in the
chorus, chilling in its jauntiness, as Prine croons the line “There’s a hole in
daddy’s arm where all the money goes,” as evocative a description of heroin
addiction as has ever been set to song.
Stone’s fate is set, and he ends up going the same way as that other ruined
vet, the Indian Ira Hayes. Perhaps the most moving evocation of Stone’s life was
from Spiritualized’s Jason Pierce, who appropriated key lines on 1997’s smack-
soaked odyssey “Cop Shoot Cop.” PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Willin’
Little Feat (1972)
It was Jimmy Carl Black, the drummer in Frank Zappa’s Mothers of Invention,
who first remarked upon them. In Black’s words, his bandmate Lowell George
had “the ugliest little fuckin’ feet.” Tickled by the comment, George
remembered Black’s remark when he was asked by Zappa to leave the Mothers.
The name of his new band was born, with “feet” misspelled in honor of The
Beatles.
Legend has it that Zappa tossed George from his band after he heard
George’s song “Willin’,” written from the perspective of a road-weary trucker
whose peregrinations are fueled by “weed, whites, and wine.” Zappa suggested
that if he wanted to play this kind of thing, George might want to form his own
band. So he did.
Released in 1971, Little Feat’s self-titled debut was a ragged thing, and the
hurried, clumsy version of “Willin’” on it sounds like little more than a demo.
(This despite the presence of Ry Cooder on slide guitar, brought in to help after
George hurt his hand.) The recording that appeared on the following year’s
Sailin’ Shoes is a vast improvement, slowed down to cruising speed and given a
beefier arrangement. As George had hoped it might, the song became something
of a truckers’ anthem and a highlight of the group’s sets. In 1979, Little Feat
broke up and George succumbed to a massive heart attack while touring to
support his first solo album. He was thirty-four. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Of all the classic first-wave krautrock bands, it is Faust who most strike fear into
the casual listener, thanks to their taste for live shows that involve saws, power
drills, and all manner of other equipment more suited to the D.I.Y. workshop
than the rock show. But, alongside such a predilection for industrial metal in the
most literal sense of the words, this veteran experimental act—formed in West
Germany in 1971 and signed up by radical journalist Uwe Nettelbeck—also
display a Dada-influenced humor and naive tunefulness that belies any such
fearsome reputation.
The proof is right here in “It’s a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl”. The first track
off Faust’s second LP, this is krautrock at its most bubblegum—a whimsical
sing-along tethered to choppy one-chord guitar and a basic four-to-the-floor
backbeat that hammers the tune home over seven increasingly delirious minutes,
before a jaunty saxophone brings the song to a slow fade.
The sheer sonic oddity of “It’s a Rainy Day, Sunshine Girl” spoke volumes
about Faust’s freedom to experiment. Holed up in rural Wümme in a
schoolhouse converted into a studio, the band pursued a creative curiosity that
seemed boundless. “We did everything from jazz to imitating church choirs,”
recalls Hans Joachim Irmler. “We dissected and examined everything. We were
just like children at play.” LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Sail Away
Randy Newman (1972)
Avoid listening closely to the lyrics, and “Sail Away” may come across as a
simple paean to the American dream, in which there is always food on the table
and “every man is free.” But Randy Newman has built his singular aesthetic on
such confusions, marrying good-natured, major-key melodies to lyrics sharp
enough to cut.
In that sense, “Sail Away” is a Newman archetype. He had written about the
South before, most notably in his acidic rewrite of Stephen Foster’s sentimental
“My Old Kentucky Home,” and returned to it later on the likes of “Rednecks,” in
which neither the apparently racist South nor the putatively liberal northern
states escape unharmed. But “Sail Away,” an advertising pitch from a slave
trader to his potential prey delivered in Newman’s inimitable foggy growl, may
be his most pungent piece of satire.
Not every subsequent performer of “Sail Away” seems to have quite
understood its message. Some have even nervously changed the “climb aboard,
little wog” lyric, the line on which the entire song hinges. Still, Newman must be
used to it by now, given the treatment that has been dealt out to his repertoire by
singers who take his lyrics at face value. Such a misunderstanding even gave
Newman his biggest hit as a performer, when his powerfully sarcastic “Short
People” became a huge hit in the U.S. at the start of 1978. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Silver Machine
Hawkwind (1972)
Tumbling Dice
The Rolling Stones (1972)
“It’s such a great track. So laid back. It really sucks you in with that
groove.”
Joe Perry, 2002
“I don’t really know what people like about it,” puzzled Mick Jagger. “I don’t
think it’s our best stuff. I don’t think it has good lyrics. But people seem to really
like it.”
The Rolling Stones’ “Tumbling Dice” first saw the light of day in Britain in
October 1970, but in a very different incarnation. Then called “Good Time
Woman,” the song had different lyrics, a faster tempo, Mick Taylor on lead
guitar, and Ian Stewart on piano. It had “a very simple structure,” recalled
Taylor, “that evolved out of us just jamming.”
The following summer, the track was reworked in the basement of Keith
Richards’s French villa. “I remember writing the riff upstairs in the very elegant
front room,” Keef said, “and we took it downstairs the same evening and we cut
it.” However, as engineer Andy Johns complained: “That went on for about two
weeks. They would just sit and play the intro riff over and over for hours and
hours trying to get the groove right. We must have done 150 or 200 takes.”
Finally, the key to the song’s evolution was Richards taking over guitar (with
assistance from Jagger), while Taylor played bass. “Tumbling Dice” was
completed in Los Angeles in March 1972. “All of a sudden,” Jagger complained
during mixing, “the backing track seems so . . . so . . . ordinaire.”
Actually, the result was anything but “ordinaire,” despite its largely
incomprehensible lyrics. “Part of what makes this special,” remarked The
Clash’s Joe Strummer, “is that the words are a conundrum, like ‘Louie, Louie.’”
(“It’s about gambling and love,” confirmed Jagger.) “I really loved ‘Tumbling
Dice’,” enthused Richards. “Beautifully played by everybody.” Ryan Adams
agreed: “It’s so groovy a track, it’s perfect.” BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Thirteen
Big Star (1972)
Writer | Alex Chilton, Chris Bell Producer | Big Star, John Fry Label | Ardent
Album | #1 Record (1972)
A quintessential cult hero, Alex Chilton first found fame with Sixties popsters
The Box Tops. They struck gold with hits such as “The Letter,” but were
essentially a vehicle for their producer and writer, Dan Penn. So, young Alex
turned his back on stardom and entered the orbit of obscurity. But before his
erratic solo career, he joined fellow singer-songwriter Chris Bell’s band, Big
Star, whose debut album blended Beatlesque melodies, Stonesy blues, and a
soupçon of psychedelia. “Every cut could be a single,” marveled Billboard.
Amid these delights was something Rolling Stone described as “a wistful,
funny remembrance of junior high.” A lyrical reference to The Rolling Stones’
“Paint It, Black” did indeed evoke a sense of nostalgia, but, as the title suggests,
“Thirteen” hinted at a slightly seedier relationship. However, its acoustic
delicacy made it a quite wondrous two and a half minutes.
“Thirteen” was Chilton’s baby. Although he was to dismiss the song as
“groping around,” and Big Star imploded in 1974 without ever enjoying success,
“Thirteen” became a cast-iron classic. Big Star’s biggest disciples, Teenage
Fanclub, named their 1993 album Thirteen after the song, and it has been
covered by admirers ranging from Elliott Smith and Wilco to dEUS and Garbage
—the latter version even earning the accolade of “really good” from Chilton
himself. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
It is hard to believe that Don van Vliet truly expected Trout Mask Replica, his
third album, to fly off the shelves when it was issued in 1969. But its lack of
U.S. success led him to tone down his musical eccentricities. In 1972, he enlisted
as his producer Ted Templeman, a former member of Sixties pop act Harpers
Bizarre who had, by then, found success working with The Doobie Brothers.
It sounds like a strange collaboration, but it was not strange enough. Clear
Spot is a world away from the bewildered blues-rock of Trout Mask Replica, but
the comparatively clean-cut record lacked its predecessor’s charisma. The bayou
boogie of “Nowadays a Woman’s Gotta Hit a Man” and the maladroit balladry
of “My Head Is My Only House Unless It Rains” signally failed to catapult
Beefheart into the hearts of the nation.
The album’s highlight is buried near the end. Driven by the twin-engine
guitars of Rockette Morton (real name Mark Boston) and Zoot Horn Rollo (Bill
Harkleroad), memorably encouraged here to “Hit that long, lunar note, and let it
float,” and grounded by the deceptively complex drumming of Ed Marimba (Art
Tripp), “Big Eyed Beans from Venus” is the most successful fusion of
Beefheart’s avant-garde roots with his mainstream leanings. It was also one of
the last worthwhile recordings he made; in the early Eighties he abandoned
music and became a painter. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Rocket Man
Elton John (1972)
“We didn’t steal that one from Bowie. We stole it from another bloke,
called Tom Rapp.”
Bernie Taupin, 1988
“Gene Simmons told us that ‘Rock and Roll All Nite’ was Kiss’s
‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now.’”
Noddy Holder, 1987
In those outrageous stack heels and glitter outfits, glam-rock kings Slade
trampled all over the British charts in the first half of the Seventies, gleefully
misspelling as they went. “Mama Weer All Crazee Now”—initially titled “My
My We’re All Crazy Now”—was their third U.K. No. 1 in under a year, and
arguably it was the best yet.
The common consensus was that, while Slade on vinyl was a rabble-rousing
experience, the group came into their own in the live environment. As Gene
Simmons of Kiss mused: “Before Slade, no one really knew shit about how to
make an audience riot.” And it was witnessing the debris following a Slade show
in London that inspired Noddy Holder to provide the perfect images to go with
bassist Jim Lea’s stomping tune. Explained guitarist Dave Hill: “‘Mama Weer
All Crazee Now’ was written purely on the strength of one night, when we went
down really well and the audience was just wild. . . . We saw a lot of kids raving
it up and thought ‘We’re all bloody mad!’”
After the crunching guitar intro, Holder’s howl sends the adrenaline into
overdrive, even though it was not originally part of the track (it was lifted from
one of his vocal warm-ups by producer, and ex-Animal, Chas Chandler). The
public lapped up the band’s direct approach, as have succeeding generations
when confronted by a variety of contrasting bands and artists, including the
Ramones, Tom Jones, Oasis, and Nirvana.
“Mama Weer All Crazee Now” comes from a time when Slade seemed to
own the charts—and in the Seventies no rock act sold more singles. Slade could
not be commended for services to spelling, but they had plenty of lessons to
impart about being a great British band. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The Night
Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons (1972)
Writer | Walter Becker, Donald Fagen Producer | Gary Katz Label | ABC
Album | Can’t Buy a Thrill (1972)
The catchy pop of Steely Dan’s second single was so unlike the band’s first hit
—the cool, seductive Latin-tinged cha-cha “Do It Again”—that they might have
been mistaken for two different groups. Donald Fagen sings about a college
relationship that went sour, and adds a twist of misogyny, while the band deliver
the sneering chorus as a catchy sing-along. Few pop songs kick-start with such
searing guitar chords and then opt to veer off and unleash a killer solo with just-
in-tune jazzy phrasing—and this from a player, Elliot Randall, who was not even
in the band. Together with friend Jeff “Skunk” Baxter and Denny Dias, the three
guitarists also display blistering, tightly harmonized guitar segues throughout.
English graduate Donald Fagen and his co-alumnus Walter Becker were the
minds behind one of the most lyrically dense but musically savvy rock outfits of
the Seventies. Behind the cool shades and anonymous anti-band stance, the duo
knew precisely how to pull a melodic punch and carry a syncopated rhythm.
Fagen (keyboards and nasal, whining vocals) and Becker (bass) built their
eclectic catalog around a meticulous attention to detail, using chord-and-rhythm
charts and plenty of studio spit and polish to perfect their pop.
Their nous paid off, chart-wise: released as a single in 1973, “Reelin’ in the
Years” made No. 11 in the U.S. and became an FM radio staple. JJH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Always on My Mind
Elvis Presley (1972)
Although recorded more than five years before his death, Presley’s “Always on
My Mind” brought down the curtain on the revitalized Elvis, reborn after his
famous 1968 television special.
On February 23, 1972, Presley had completed a successful stay at the Las
Vegas Hilton and was at the peak of his popularity second time around. And,
when he and his regular musicians (including guitarists James Burton and
Charlie Hodge, drummer Ronnie Tutt, and pianist Glen Hardin, plus J. D.
Sumner & The Stamps on vocals) gathered in RCA’s Studio C in Hollywood on
March 27, the results were magnificent.
True, many of the songs recorded in those three days suggested he was
distracted and spilling his troubled heart out in the studio, but “Separate Ways,”
“Burning Love,” and “Fool” are among the best songs he recorded in the
Seventies. It was on the third day of the session that he recorded the song
destined to become, in many people’s eyes, the full stop at the end of his
marriage, and to the end of the Elvis era. A recent flop single by Brenda Lee,
“Always on My Mind” had yet to register with the public and was released in
November as a double-A-sided single with “Separate Ways,” perhaps the
ultimate break-up package. Elvis, enthused co-writer Mark James, “recorded a
really great and memorable performance.” Remember him this way: as a true
soul singer. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Billy Thorpe Producer | Billy Thorpe Label | Havoc Album | N/A
Regenerating themselves through several lineup changes, Billy Thorpe & The
Aztecs are best remembered for their Seventies rock reincarnation that produced
“Most People I Know (Think That I’m Crazy).” Billy Thorpe, or “Thorpie,” as
he was affectionately known, died in 2007. His Mk I version of The Aztecs had
been Australia’s only group to threaten The Beatles’ total chart domination and
teen adulation in the mid-Sixties.
As pop evolved into rock in the early Seventies, Thorpe’s transformation,
both visual and musical, evolved, too. Although not wholly representative of
their new, gutsier sound, “Most People I Know” became the band’s signature
tune at a time when Thorpe continued to lead as vocalist but now strapped on a
guitar, sported a pony tail, and fronted one of rock’s loudest acts. “Most People I
Know” got its first public airing in the summer of 1972, when the band played
the Sunbury Music Festival in Victoria. They could not have picked a better time
or place to debut their new song. It was an instant favorite with the 40,000
festival-goers at what was dubbed Australia’s own Woodstock.
The defiant and personal nature of the song’s lyrics also struck a chord with
record buyers, who helped the single rocket toward the top of the Australian
charts and encouraged the release of Aztecs Live at Sunbury, which captured the
debut of “Most People I Know” in all its glory. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Taj Mahal
Jorge Ben (1972)
“Some people say that I’m a perfectionist. They’re right. . . . But I’m
also talented and I know when I create something great.”
Lou Reed, 1998
After the demise of cult avant-garde rock group The Velvet Underground, Lou
Reed was forced to move back in with his parents and take a job in his father’s
accountancy firm. Fortunately he soon tired of balance sheets and decided to
launch a solo career, with the aid of Velvets fan David Bowie. Reed’s second
album was produced by Bowie—then still in his Ziggy Stardust period—and
featured three songs that had originally been commissioned by Reed’s former
mentor Andy Warhol for a planned musical based on Nelson Algren’s 1956
novel A Walk on the Wild Side. The show never happened, but Reed kept the
title for a song chronicling the lives of some of the Manhattan street hustlers who
frequented Warhol’s studio, The Factory. Thus the exploits of Holly Woodlawn,
Candy Darling, Joe Dallesandro, Jackie Curtis, and Joe “Sugar Plum Fairy”
Campbell were immortalized in a portrait that is unflinching but affectionate,
featuring backing vocals from female singing trio Thunderthighs and a
mellifluous saxophone solo played by Ronnie Ross—Bowie’s childhood sax
teacher.
Despite containing references to transsexuality, oral sex, and drugs, “Walk
on the Wild Side” was a Top Twenty hit in the United States and the United
Kingdom—although the BBC famously objected to the line about “colored
girls,” insisting it be replaced by “all the girls.” It was the legendarily truculent
Reed’s last hit for thirty years, although Herbie Flowers’s memorable double-
bass part has been repeatedly sampled, most notably by A Tribe Called Quest on
1990’s “Can I Kick It?” Flowers was paid no princely sum for his work on
Transformer but saw that as the nature of session musicianship: “You do the job
and get your arse away.” PL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Virginia Plain
Roxy Music (1972)
Influenced by: I’m Waiting for the Man • The Velvet Underground
(1967)
Influence on: A Glass of Champagne • Sailor (1975)
Covered by: Spizzenergi (1979) • Slamm (1993) • Griff Steel (2007)
Other key track: Do the Strand (1973)
Bryan Ferry once claimed that his principal songwriting influence was Smokey
Robinson, but the listener would be hard-pressed to spot the connection between
that Motown artist and the strangulated croon and sci-fi sound effects of Roxy
Music’s first single. If there is a precursor, it is in the hypnotically rhythmic style
of The Velvet Underground, a group that Roxy’s resident boffin, Brian Eno,
eulogized as a major influence (on him, and on everyone else who had heard
them).
The sonic force of the song is monumental, a wall of sound that collapses
into a pile of rubble: Eno coaxing space-age noises out of his suitcase-shaped
VCS3 synthesizer, an ad hoc guitar solo by Phil Manzanera, sax parps from
Andy Mackay, Ferry’s pounding piano (lifted wholesale by glam-rock also-rans
Sailor in 1975), and Shangri-Las-style motorbike revs, recorded by a miked-up
roadie riding through central London with the cables trailing behind him.
Ferry’s oblique, sloganeering lyrics draw on a painting from his art-student
days, blending tobacco-ad imagery with a portrait of Warhol acolyte Baby Jane
Holzer, whose bouffant hairdo—or “Holzer mane,” as he termed it—had caused
a fashion sensation in 1964. Indeed, the influence of Warhol himself, as Pop Art
guru and erstwhile Velvets producer, is keenly felt throughout the song, every
line being steeped in Americana—a world of teenage rebels at the drive-in,
hipsters jiving, all-night cha-chas, and the 1933 Fred ’n’ Ginger musical Flying
Down to Rio. The lyric is a collage of pop-culture references that parallel the
collision of golden-age cinema and rock ‘n’ roll in the band’s name. And it’s all
a very long way from “Tears of a Clown.” SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
You’re So Vain
Carly Simon (1972)
It remains one of pop’s great mysteries: just who in Carly Simon’s No. 1 single
“You’re So Vain” was the guy who flew his own Learjet and “had me several
years ago / When I was still quite naive”?
Simon was initially lukewarm about working on the song with Richard
Perry, who had produced Harry Nilsson and Barbra Streisand and was possibly
too slick for her liking. It has also been rumored that the golden-voiced Nilsson
was originally lined up for backing vocals but bowed out after Mick Jagger
showed up at the studios. Perry was a perfectionist, and they recorded the song
three different times with three different drummers (using Jim Gordon in the
end). But the key figure was neither Simon nor Jagger nor Perry. It was Beatles’
Revolver artist Klaus Voorman, who provided the signature opening-solo bass
licks that set the scene for the anonymous “son of a gun,” while Paul
Buckmaster (who had beautifully handled the arrangements on Elton John’s first
two albums) provided the sympathetic orchestration.
The million-selling song spent three weeks at No. 1 in early 1973. Listeners
speculated as to whether the refrain, “You’re so vain / I’ll bet you think this song
is about you / Don’t you? Don’t you?,” referred to Jagger, or possibly Warren
Beatty, Kris Kristofferson, or Simon’s husband James Taylor (not to mention
Cat Stevens or Hugh Hefner). Over thirty years later, she’s still not telling. JJH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Merle Haggard, Bonnie Owens Producer | Rick Hall, Mickey Buckins
Label | Atlantic
Album | N/A
Soul blended with country on “Today I Started Loving You Again.” It was
Bettye Swann’s last visit to the Billboard Hot 100 before leaving the music
business to devote herself to “living life the right way,” as she put it, as a devout
Jehovah’s Witness.
The song, a country standard, was given a soul inflection when Swann
signed to Capitol. A chance pairing with new producer Wayne Shuler resulted in
Don’t You Ever Get Tired of Hurting Me, the Louisiana-born singer’s 1969
album, which first included her recording of “Today I Started Loving You
Again.” According to Shuler, he first teamed his new charge with country legend
Buck Owens on a groundbreaking version of the song, a rare and controversial
white-country-meets-black-soul duet, frowned upon even as recently as the late
Sixties. Sadly, the recording remains unreleased and the album used Swann’s
still terrific solo version. (Intriguingly, Buck Owens was married to the song’s
co-creator Bonnie Owens who, in turn, later married her writing partner Merle
Haggard.) Bettye Swann had transferred from Capitol to Atlantic by the time the
song resurfaced as a hit single in 1973, albeit originally as a B-side to “I’d
Rather Go Blind.” A million miles from its country origins, her terrific
performance was recorded with Jimmie Haskell’s string arrangement and some
beefy brass at “The Home of The Muscle Shoals Sound,” Fame Studios. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The hit “Il mio canto libero” (Song to Feel Alive) was released at the same time
as the album of the same name and became 1973’s third-bestselling single in the
Italian charts (the album was the year’s best seller, remaining at No. 1 for eleven
weeks). To this day frequently broadcast on Italian radio, the song is a prominent
highlight in the work of Lucio Battisti, and a classic of Italian popular music. It
also enjoyed great success abroad, being translated into several languages (there
are versions in English, French, German, and Spanish, all sung by Battisti on the
album Images).
By far the most significant element of the song is the emotional vocal, sung
against an accompaniment that, in the original version, begins with a single
guitar and builds as the song develops with the introduction of fuller
instrumentation and drums, and then brass. The lyric, concerning the love
uniting the author and his woman, chimed with the young people of its moment,
with their sense of shared alienation, the difficulty of starting to live as adults,
and yet hope.
The lyrics have autobiographical references. Mogol wrote it after he had
separated from his wife and met his new companion, poet Gabriella Marazzi. He
refers to his divorce, his love song “Soaring over all the accusations / Over
prejudice and affectations.” This was truly a ballad for a generation finding its
way to maturity. LSc
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Superfly
Curtis Mayfield (1972)
There is some debate as to which was the first blaxploitation movie—that is, a
film made with black actors for a black audience and concerned with black
urban and ghetto themes. Both Sweet Sweetback’s Baadasssss Song and Shaft
came out in 1971, swiftly followed by Super Fly, for which Curtis Mayfield
wrote and performed the soundtrack.
Mayfield, a politically committed soul and R&B singer and composer, was a
strong supporter of civil rights, black pride, and black power. His soundtrack to
the film is at variance to the film itself. Super Fly is about a black cocaine dealer
who is trying to quit the business. If the movie’s message is ambiguous,
Mayfield’s soundtrack is anything but: a series of hard-hitting lyrics that criticize
the ghetto’s glorification of drugs and directly attack some of the movie’s
characters.
The title track itself—spelled as one word, not two—is a delight, sung in
Mayfield’s trademark falsetto voice. Its opening bass line and percussion break,
now much sampled, lead into a lightly sprung funk line interrupted by brass and
percussion chords that support and enhance the vocals. Both the song and
soundtrack were huge and immediate commercial successes, the soundtrack
being one of the few to easily outgross its film. It is also one of the first soul
concept albums, every bit the equal of Marvin Gaye’s contemporaneous What’s
Going On. SA See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Crazy Horses
The Osmonds (1972)
Writer | The Osmonds Producer | Alan Osmond, Michael Lloyd Label | MGM
Album | Crazy Horses (1972)
The Osmonds are often dismissed as an anemic version of The Jackson 5, but
gruff-voiced singer Merrill Osmond cited Led Zeppelin as a major influence,
and, as if to prove it, the brothers cut this astonishing, hard-rocking slice of funk
metal in 1972. Its churning, guitar-heavy sound revolves around a tribal chant
followed by high-pitched weeeeeooooh noises, reminiscent of the theremins used
in Fifties B-movies (actually teen idol Donny, pounding on his Buchla synth).
The band’s showbiz tendencies were also given free rein, thanks to brass stabs
arranged by Jim Horn.
What’s more, there was—as the first line informs us—“a message floating in
the air.” The song reflects the nascent eco-consciousness of the early Seventies,
a warning about the cult of the car “smoking up the sky” with foul pollution. The
automotive motif was driven home by Wayne and Alan’s guitars, chugging
along like diesel engines, and an album cover that showed the five siblings in a
breaker’s yard under a pall of cartoon fumes.
The heavy riffs of “Crazy Horses” brought the Osmonds admirers in
unexpected quarters. After it hit No. 1 in France, they performed there—sporting
flared jumpsuits, tailored by Elvis Presley’s outfitter, Bill Belew—to an
audience of hairy Black Sabbath fans. “We knew what we were faced with,”
recalled Merrill in 2009. “We vamped ‘Crazy Horses’ for about a half-hour.” SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
After years of Saturday gigs and little chart success, Dylanesque rockers Mott
the Hoople were ready to throw in the towel. Then David Bowie—who carved
out a niche as something of a svengali to such icons as Lou Reed, Iggy Pop, and
Peter Noone—offered them his as yet unreleased song “Suffragette City.” When
bass player Pete Overend Watts turned it down, Bowie phoned back within two
hours: “I’ve written a song for you since we spoke, which could be great,” he
confided.
The tune in question was a football-terrace sing-along of generation-gap
angst, replete with Cockney rhyming slang, a reference to British chain store
Marks & Spencer, and sly digs at Marc Bolan. “It’s no hymn to the youth, as
people thought,” Bowie said in 1974. “It is completely the opposite.” He saw the
lyric as part of his Ziggy Stardust cycle—the message that the titular dudes were
conveying was that the Earth was doomed to imminent destruction within a
matter of years. But glitter-faced teens were more interested in Mick Ralphs’s
epic Gibson Firebird intro, Verden Allen’s transcendent church organ, and the
contagious hand claps that snake lazily through the chorus. Glamrock stardom
was theirs.
The Thin White Duke would return to “All the Young Dudes” intermittently,
performing it on 1974’s David Live and spooling it backwards as the basis for
the Lodger track “Move On” in 1979. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Personality Crisis
New York Dolls (1973)
Writer | Nicky Chinn, Mike Chapman Producer | Nicky Chinn, Mike Chapman
Label | RCA
Album | N/A
Jolene
Dolly Parton (1973)
For a song that is all about low self-esteem and vulnerability, “Jolene” is a
robust little number. With a simple chorus of rising chords, Dolly Parton’s
breakout pop-country hit has been covered by more than thirty artists in an array
of genres. There’s whimsical folk from Mindy Smith (Parton’s favorite), Gothic
self-hate from Sisters of Mercy, and plangent despair from The White Stripes.
Strawberry Switchblade gave it some Eighties synth, while Olivia Newton-John
stripped out all the pathos but really got the disco floor bouncing.
The content of the lyrics isn’t open to quite so much reinterpretation. Parton,
a successful country singer-songwriter but one without a smash hit, was moved
to write it after her husband began receiving admiring glances from a woman
who worked in a local bank and, as Parton explained with typically brassy self-
deprecation, “had all that stuff that some little short, sawed-off honky like me
don’t have.” The song takes the form of the narrator pleading woman-to-woman
with beautiful predator Jolene: “Please don’t take my man.” “My happiness
depends on you, and whatever you decide to do,” concludes a desperate but
determined Parton. It’s hardly a feminist anthem—hence Kirsty MacColl’s
caustic response, “Caroline,” in 1995—but at no point does it ever sound like the
husband himself will have any say in what is going to happen. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Next
The Sensational Alex Harvey Band (1973)
Rock On
David Essex (1973)
The cult of retro had emerged in the 1960s—all Twenties pastiche and Sgt.
Pepper’s Victoriana—but soon after it started to focus on the more immediate
past, plundering the back catalog of the doo-wop era in search of lost innocence.
At the forefront of this Fifties nostalgia was the film That’ll Be the Day (1973),
starring David Essex, for which the young actor penned a potential theme tune
loaded with references to “Summertime Blues,” “Blue Suede Shoes,” and James
Dean.
That “Rock On” was not, in the end, used for the film is perhaps
unsurprising. Jeff Wayne’s incredible, avant-garde production is inspired less by
soda-shop pop than by the rhythmic minimalism of Gary Glitter and Mike
Leander. Essex had demonstrated the song to him by tapping out the beat on a
wastepaper basket, and Wayne, admiring this melancholy sparseness, arranged it
without any chords. Instead, he structured the track around complex percussive
slaps, the echoing heartbeat of Herbie Flowers’s double-tracked bass, and an
almost atonal violin section pitched somewhere between Bollywood and the
sweeping strings of the disco era.
“Rock On” is a record that looks forward as much as back. “Where do we go
from here?” wonders Essex, wracked with self-doubt. The answer, it turned out,
was musical theater and an orchestral version of The War of the Worlds. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Search and Destroy” might open with one of the most legendary couplets in all
of rock ’n’ roll—Iggy’s immortal, sneered “I’m a street-walking cheetah with a
heart full of napalm / I’m a runaway son of the nuclear A-bomb”—but it was
hardly regarded as an instant classic at the time.
The Stooges’ U.S. record company, Elektra, had already washed their hands
of the band following their free-jazz-inspired Fun House, and by the time the
band rocked up in London at the request of David Bowie, they were widely
regarded as a drug-damaged liability. Twelve days at London’s CBS studios,
however, spawned the perfect riposte, in the form of the proto-punk classic Raw
Power.
“Search and Destroy” was that album’s opening salvo, sinewy rock ’n’ roll
propelled forth on new guitarist James Williamson’s hard, metallic riffs. Iggy
cribbed the song’s title from a Time magazine article on the Vietnam War, and
his apocalyptic delivery, recorded in one, deranged take, suggested he channeled
destruction with no little relish. Brothers Ron and Scott Asheton, meanwhile,
play the archetypal powerhouse rhythm section, their bass and drums rumbling.
Columbia hated the album and initial sales were poor, but Raw Power
proved to be a huge influence on the nascent punk movement. Steve Jones of the
Sex Pistols claimed he’d learned to play guitar by taking speed and playing
along to the album. LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Desperado
Eagles (1973)
Following the success of the group’s debut album, Eagles, in 1972, Don Henley
and Glenn Frey took on an increasing share of songwriting duties. “Desperado,”
which lends its name to the group’s second album, is the melancholy fruit of that
creative partnership.
Evoking the ghostly honky-tonk pianos of some faded saloon, “Desperado”
is a tragic ballad in the narrative style. Ostensibly it tells the story of a hard-
bitten outlaw who has one last chance to come in from the cold. A tender
allegory about the difficulty of seeking redemption after years of shunning love
lies beneath the grizzled frontier rhetoric, however.
Despite rich vocal harmonies arranged by guitarist Bernie Leadon, formerly
of seminal country-rock outfit The Flying Burrito Brothers, and an enduring
emotional appeal, “Desperado” was never released as single. Such was the
song’s popularity among fans, though, that it was shrewdly included on the
band’s first greatest-hits collection, in 1976.
In an intriguing footnote, Linda Ronstadt—who had briefly employed
Henley, Frey, and Leadon as part of her backing band in 1971—was asked to
leave a Las Vegas venue in 2004, after dedicating her cover version of
“Desperado” to controversial filmmaker Michael Moore in front of a staunchly
conservative casino crowd. JD
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | John Cale Producer | Chris Thomas Label | Reprise Album | Paris
1919 (1973)
For all John Cale’s influence over the sound and direction of The Velvet
Underground, the group he co-founded with Lou Reed in 1965, he wasn’t
accustomed to standing front and center. When Cale left the group in 1968, he
retreated behind the scenes of the music industry, producing The Stooges’ first
album and playing on Nick Drake’s Bryter Layter. When he eventually decided
to place himself in the spotlight on a self-produced solo album, Vintage Violence
(1970), the result was, in Cale’s own words, “a very naive record.”
By contrast, Paris 1919 is tangibly the work of someone who’s figured out
what he wants to do and how to do it. Cale hired Beatles and Pink Floyd
collaborator Chris Thomas as his producer, and three-fifths of Little Feat as his
backing band. The music that resulted from the collaboration remains some of
the most cherished of his career.
The opening track shares a title with a Dylan Thomas memoir, which first
appeared in 1950. “Growing up in Wales,” Cale admitted, “you can’t miss the
poetry.” But Cale uses Thomas’s “A Child’s Christmas in Wales” as inspiration
rather than source material, threading together a typically elusive narrative (“Ten
murdered oranges bled on board ship / Lends comedy to shame”) over an
arrangement lent color by Lowell George’s slide guitar. Cale returned to Thomas
later in his career, but never as warmly as here. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Solid Air
John Martyn (1973)
Writer | John Martyn Producer | John Martyn, John Wood Label | Island
Album | Solid Air (1973)
John Martyn and fellow troubadour Nick Drake met sometime in the late 1960s
as labelmates at Island Records. Painfully shy and unable to perform well in
public, Drake expected stardom and was deeply upset when it failed to
materialize. What confidence he had as the good-looking poster boy of English
folk music soon dried up.
It was his friendship with Nick Drake that inspired one of John Martyn’s
most haunting songs. Written and recorded in 1972, “Solid Air” features
Martyn’s ethereal, echo-heavy acoustic guitar backed by Danny Thompson’s
reverberating double bass and a spare accompaniment of keyboards, electric
bass, drums, and congas. Luminous vibes and a haunting tenor solo by
saxophonist Tony Coe add to the mood. It is Martyn’s vocals that stand out,
however. Drawled, smeared, yet utterly clear, he is forced to admit that “I don’t
know what’s going on in your mind But I know you don’t like what you find
When you’re moving through / Solid air.”
“Solid Air” and its parent album confirmed Martyn as an innovative
musician straddling the folk-rock border. As for Drake, he died, probably
accidentally, from an overdose of antidepressants in 1974, eighteen months after
the song and album were released. Largely unrecognized in his lifetime, he is
now considered one of the greatest songwriters of the last fifty years. SA See all
songs from the 1970s
1970s
For all their twenty-minute, multipart symphonies, Genesis knew a good pop
tune when they heard it. After guitarist Steve Hackett fell into playing a Beatles-
influenced riff over and over at rehearsals for the group’s fifth album, Selling
England By the Pound, keyboard player Tony Banks began improvising around
it. Soon the other members jumped on it as a touch of light relief from the more
opaque material they had been making. Peter Gabriel came up with a melody
line and a lyric inspired by what was to become the album’s cover painting, The
Dream, by Betty Swanwick.
“I Know What I Like (in Your Wardrobe)” is a tale of external pressure on
Jacob, a young man (allegedly Genesis roadie Jacob Finster) to conform. The
line “There’s a future for you in the fire-escape trade” echoes Mr. McGuire’s
line to Benjamin in The Graduate: “There’s a great future in plastics.” Jacob,
however, is simply content to mow lawns for a living and doze in the sun at
lunchtime.
With Mike Rutherford playing electric sitar and a to-die-for Mellotron riff
from Banks at the close, it all scuttles along with tremendous panache and
humor. The song even makes a case for a tiny subgenre: glam-prog. It became a
stage favorite in both Gabriel’s and Phil Collins’s eras of the group, with the
former dressed as a yokel meticulously miming mowing and the latter furiously
banging away on tambourine. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Who is this? I love the bloke’s voice. He sounds just like me.”
John Lennon, 1973
“The bass sound on that—I mean, I think it’s a Moog, I don’t think
it’s a real bass, but WHEW!”
Lou Reed, 1980
Innervisions, the third in Wonder’s epochal album trilogy released under his new
contract with Motown, soundtracked the darkest hours of the American Century,
when the optimism of the previous decade was subjugated by Tricky Dick,
Watergate, Vietnam, drugs, the oil crisis, rising crime, and urban decline. What
the key track did in unambiguous terms was remind the inconvenienced middle
classes that African-Americans had been putting up with much worse for far
longer.
Wonder’s characters come from “hard time” Mississippi, the poorest state in
the union, the parents working hard to ensure that their children are eligible for
the American dream. The daughter may own old clothes, but she wears them
with pride; the son has brains, but what good will they do him when “where he
lives they don’t use colored people.”
And that’s where the single, a Top Ten hit, ends. LP buyers, however, had a
completely different experience midway through, a spoken interlude beginning
with a minute-long playlet as the young man (Wonder, who provides a panoply
of voices) boards a bus, arrives in New York, and is hustled into a drug deal,
arrested, racially abused, and sentenced to ten years.
When the next verse comes in, Wonder is transformed, singing from the back
of his throat with fury for two more verses: “He spends his life walking the
streets of New York City.” However, the dream is not entirely soured, for the
final verse finds the singer hoping his song can make a difference, that we can
“make a better tomorrow.”
And for this “Yes, we can” message, we should forgive those dated
synthesizers. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Ann Peebles is a singer regarded by many as one of the greats—no less a figure
than Bonnie Raitt once raved to Rolling Stone, “She’s my hero!” Peebles was
instrumental in defining the Memphis-soul sound, even becoming known as the
“female Al Green.” Sadly, the Al Green connection didn’t help her, and she
spent years trying to find a piece of the limelight from behind her Hi Records
stablemate, until one serendipitous moment in 1973.
Peebles told Memphis Flyer, “One night we were at the house getting ready
to go to a concert . . . and it was just pouring down with rain, and thunder was
cracking. All of a sudden I popped up and said, ‘Man, I can’t stand the rain.’
And Don [Bryant] looked at me and said, ‘Ooh, that’s a good song title!’” The
concert was forgotten, the song was written that evening, and a hit was made.
Bryant attributed much of the song’s success to producer Willie Mitchell.
Talking to BBC Radio, he recalled, “Willie always had a certain touch . . . [he]
added the electric timbales.” Those timbales, part of the equipment newly
installed at the studio, were used to create the song’s raindrop effects.
The song made No. 6 on the U.S. R&B chart, entered the pop Top Fifty,
earned a Grammy nomination, and enabled Peebles to buy her first house. But
the highest accolade may have been awarded by John Lennon, who reportedly
called it “the greatest song ever.” DC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In January 1973, the former Reg Dwight was holed up in the Pink Flamingo
Hotel in Jamaica with a big pile of pre-written lyrics by his collaborator, Bernie
Taupin. Over just three days he composed the greater part of the music for
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road—a double LP he described as the “White Album”
to Honky Château’s “Revolver.”
The title ballad reveals its treasures slowly. It begins with nothing more than
Elton and his woozy piano. Gradually, Del Newman’s orchestra buoys up the
sound until Nigel Olsson comes in with a great crash of soft-rock drums, and we
are taken into a wordless refrain that betrays a love of The Beach Boys’
psychedelic harmonizing.
And that is not the only love that is betrayed here—Taupin’s lyric is a brutal
rejection of a former lover, a moneyed figure who took the narrator into a world
of penthouses and vodka and tonics, but treated him as just another commodity.
He turns his back on the shallow fripperies of big-city life and yearns to be back
on the farm, where the focus of life is land husbandry and the predators are
avian, not sexual: a “howling old owl in the woods / Hunting the horny-back
toad.” As Ian Beck’s album-sleeve illustration makes overtly clear, this is a
response to the escapism of “Over the Rainbow,” but one that neatly inverts it,
preferring rural authenticity to a world of fantasy. The other man’s grass, it
seems, is always Technicolor. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Future Days
Can (1973)
The title track of the final album recorded with Can’s free-spirited Japanese
vocalist Damo Suzuki at the helm, “Future Days” is also one of the Cologne-
based group’s most enduring and beautiful creations. Recorded after the band
returned from a summer holiday, paid for by the surprise chart success of their
1972 single “Spoon,” its spun-out nine minutes captures them in an uncommonly
laid-back spirit, albeit one not lacking Can’s familiar percussive undercurrent.
Unlike “Spoon,” “Future Days” is nowhere near a pop song. Commencing in
a haze of electronic effects, scrapes, and eddying strings, it’s over ninety seconds
until the track finally lifts into motion on a bossa-nova-tinged beat courtesy of
Jaki Liebezeit, formerly a disciple of European free-jazz trumpeter Manfred
Schoof.
Even as the track gently builds, everything is lightly applied. Michael
Karoli’s guitar wanders idly, as if kicking through surf. Holger Czukay’s bass
rings like a metronome, barely there. And Damo Suzuki’s vocals feel pulled
back in the mix, a little submerged—although his melody is serene and
optimistic.
Future Days would be Can’s last classic album. Following its release, Damo
Suzuki dropped out of the band and became a Jehovah’s Witness. Without his
input, Can would never again capture their element, perfect ebb and flow. LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Essiniya
Nass El Ghiwane (1974)
When Nass El Ghiwane (New Dervishes) arrived on the Moroccan music scene
in the late 1960s, they infused traditional music with a radical voice. The band
from Casablanca played the Gnaoua music of southern Morocco while adding a
contemporary lyricism to songs, making them relevant to North African
listeners. With their long hair and hippie clothing, the band were compared to
The Rolling Stones, and, although they never attempted to westernize their
music (playing dar, bendir, banjo, and darbouka), they possessed a similarly
rebellious spirit to the London band.
On its release in 1974, “Essiniya” made a huge impact. The word itself
references the round Moroccan tray that tea is served upon and around which
people gather. What made the single so radical was the band’s refusal to include
in the verses any praise for Morocco’s king, a custom at the time. By distancing
themselves from such sycophancy, Nass El Ghiwane were implicitly criticizing
the way Morocco was being run. Listeners embraced them as a radical,
independent voice.
Nass El Ghiwane remain very popular across North Africa today. Most of
the founder members of this five-piece band have died, yet in their Seventies
recordings they established a template for a new North African music, one from
which folk-music-influenced genres such as chabbi would arise. GC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Carpet Crawlers
Genesis (1974)
“It seemed like prancing around in fairyland was rapidly becoming obsolete.” So
spoke Peter Gabriel when he unveiled Genesis’s double album, The Lamb Lies
Down on Broadway, the tale of Bronx ghetto-dwelling Puerto Rican protagonist
Rael.
One of Gabriel’s best-ever melodies, “Carpet Crawlers” is the indisputable
highlight of the group’s most impenetrable album. Unlike other material on the
ninety-minute-long suite, “Carpet Crawlers” was written very quickly,
developed by keyboard player Tony Banks and bassist/guitarist Mike
Rutherford. The song comes at a point in Gabriel’s “punk Pilgrim’s Progress”
when Rael finds a red-carpeted corridor full of people on their knees heading up
to a hidden chamber. Beyond the narrative aspects of the song, it has been said
that its haunting, repeated refrain, “you’ve got to get in to get out” represents the
need for sperm to fertilize an egg in order to produce a baby—or a “carpet
crawler,” if you will.
However, you can simply listen to the beauty of this song—the whole band
play with passion and, importantly, restraint. Gabriel is at his most soulful, and
Phil Collins’s chorus vocal is memorable. This is Genesis for people who
despise progressive rock, weaving as it does an idiosyncratic yet inclusive soul-
folk path. Although unsuccessful as a single release, “Carpet Crawlers” serves as
a five-minute distillation of Genesis’s glory. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Águas de março
Antônio Carlos Jobim & Elis Regina (1974)
Already famous in his native Brazil, Antônio Carlos Jobim came to worldwide
prominence in the early 1960s, thanks chiefly to an album on which he stayed in
the background. American saxophonist Stan Getz and Brazilian guitarist João
Gilberto got their names in lights on Getz/Gilberto (1964), and the plaintive
vocals of João’s wife, Astrud Gilberto, ushered “The Girl from Ipanema” into
the mainstream. The guiding hand, however, came from Jobim, who co-wrote
most of the songs on the album and played piano throughout.
The success of Getz/Gilberto allowed Jobim to pursue a healthy career in the
United States. In 1974, he joined Brazilian singer Elis Regina in Los Angeles to
record an album of Jobim-penned tunes. The duo’s version of “Águas de
março,” a gentle piece of philosophy inspired by the March rains in Rio, wasn’t
the first to be released; Jobim’s original, hurried recording had been given away
with a magazine two years earlier. But the after-you interplay between Regina
and Jobim on the melodically simple, rhythmically fluid melody, and the
empathetic all-star Brazilian band, helped make it the definitive version.
Unusually, Jobim also wrote the song’s English-language lyrics, titled as
“Waters of March.” In a recent survey of Brazilian journalists to find their
country’s best song of the twentieth century, “Águas de março” came out on top.
WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Bobby “Blue” Bland’s successful career as a blues singer had stalled by the late
1960s. His run of R&B chart successes dried up, financial pressures caused him
to break his band up completely, and his musical association with his main
composer and arranger, Joe Scott, came to an end.
His career improved when his record company, Duke, was sold to the ABC
group. They steered Bland in a more soulful, mainstream direction, complete
with rock guitars and string arrangements. Under their guidance, he released two
successful albums, written by and featuring the best L.A. session men. The
second of these sets, Dreamer, produced Bland’s biggest hit for years.
“Ain’t No Love in the Heart of the City” is a fairly basic song, just a chorus
and two verses. Its skill comes in the way in which Bland implicitly links his lost
love with a lament for the decline and despondency of his home city. She had
“loved me like this old neighborhood,” but now that she’s gone, “the sun don’t
shine, from the city heart to the county line.” After Marvin Gaye’s What’s Going
On, urban deprivation was a constant theme of American black music, and
Bland’s take on the subject was all the stronger for its subtlety.
Rapper Jay-Z sampled the song’s hookline but then laid down a series of
hateful lyrics. Heavy metal band Whitesnake also included the song on their first
EP and later released it as a single. SA
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
If Closing Time, Tom Waits’s first album, is the sound of a singer looking for his
voice, then The Heart of Saturday Night is the sound of him finding it. Granted,
that voice hadn’t yet been shattered by cigarettes, and the louche barfly schtick
he’d built for himself was more of a sketch than a portrait. But, even so, Waits’s
second album is the point at which he started to sound like himself.
For all that, the record’s near-title track is unusual for an early Waits song in
that he doesn’t put his persona at the center of the action. The self-mythologizing
first-person narrative found on other mid-Seventies tracks such as “Tom
Traubert’s Blues” is absent; here, Waits is the observer, watching as the world
unfolds before him.
The song’s theme is contained within its title: the wide-eyed optimism
inspired by the weekend, cash in your pocket, and girl by your side. It’s a simple
subject, tackled often by songwriters down the years. Savvily, Waits doesn’t
oversell it, wedding a snapshot lyric to one of his simplest, loveliest melodies.
The Heart of Saturday Night failed to make much of an impression. The
singer spent the rest of the decade growing into his Skid Row beatnik role and
then growing out of it, before embarking on one of rock’s more startling mid-
career reinventions with the uncompromisingly clattery Swordfishtrombones
(1983). WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
For the best take on “Sweet Home Alabama,” you should probably seek out
“Ronnie and Neil,” by Alabama rockers Drive-By Truckers, in which singer
Patterson Hood relates the full messy story behind this epic and continually
misunderstood rallying cry for southern pride. It was recorded by Ronnie Van
Zant’s Skynyrd in response to Neil Young’s “Southern Man” and “Alabama,”
both of which seemed to blame the entire South for the actions of a racist
minority. In the song, Skynyrd—staunch antisegregationists and Neil Young
fans, but proud of their roots (all three songwriters were actually from Florida)—
admonished Young and praised the state of Alabama, while making equivocal
comments about infamous racist governor George Wallace (something later
echoed by Randy Newman’s scabrous and conflicted “Rednecks”).
Young loved it, as did most of Skynyrd’s fellow Southerners, who adopted
the song as an unofficial anthem (it’s the slogan on Alabama’s state license
plates), but some listeners failed to discern the subtleties of the song’s politics
and saw it as a simple endorsement of white superiority. Others ignored the
lyrics entirely and just grooved to its funky toe-tapping backing rhythm and
swinging wah-wah guitar, the two qualities that have made it a staple of film
soundtracks and classic-rock compilations. These contradictions are exemplified
by the disparate cover versions of the song: one, vicious and stupid, by English
Nazi punks Skrewdriver; another, celebratory and tongue-in-cheek, by Dirty
South rappers B.A.M.A.; and an anodyne third by MOR folkie Jewel, the latter
the theme for a forgettable romantic comedy bearing the song’s name. This
would be the “the duality of the southern thing,” as Drive-By Truckers later put
it. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Piss Factory
Patti Smith Group (1974)
“In ‘Piss Factory’ I wasn’t trying to represent any punk rock point of
view. I was just representing the fact that we all have a choice.”
Patti Smith, 1996
Patti Smith had been knocking around the fringes of the music world for a while
before she finally got into the studio, so when it was time to record her first
single she was locked, loaded, and ready to roll. Smith, a strong personality and
powerful performer, saw herself as a poet and writer as much as a singer, but
that still didn’t prepare anybody for the cathartic might of “Piss Factory,” one of
the great B-sides in musical history and also one of the most successful fusions
of honest-togod poetry (rather than opaque and self-indulgent lyrics) with rock
‘n’ roll.
Over Richard Sohl’s amazing, insane, jazzy piano, Smith intones a wildly
rhythmic, Beat-influenced recollection of her hellish time working in a New
Jersey toy factory as a sixteen-year-old in 1964 (“Because you see it’s the
monotony that’s got to me Every afternoon like the last one Every afternoon like
a rerun”) until she makes her closing, bold, climactic promise: “I’m gonna be
somebody, I’m gonna get on that train, go to New York City / And I’m gonna be
so big, I’m gonna be a big star and I will never return.” She was as good as her
word.
With an equally unorthodox Patty Hearst–referencing cover of “Hey Joe” on
the A-side, the single was paid for by photographer Robert Mapplethorpe
(Smith’s former lover, whose photos of her later became the LP covers of the
Patti Smith Group). Smith had been inspired to record after seeing shows by
Television, whose songwriter, Tom Verlaine, played on “Hey Joe
(Version)”/”Piss Factory,” so it made perfect sense when the two bands began a
residency at CBGB in 1975, and America’s Rimbaud-meets–The Rolling Stones
version of punk was born. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Evie
Stevie Wright (1974)
In the mid-Sixties, “Little Stevie” Wright enjoyed massive success as lead singer
of The Easybeats. That Aussie group was embraced in its homeland with
Beatlemania-style passion thanks to a string of No. 1 pop hits, notably “Friday
on My Mind.”
After The Easybeats disbanded in 1969, Wright wore various hats, at one
point appearing in Jesus Christ Superstar, before recording his solo debut, Hard
Road. The effort would reunite him with his old Easybeats mates Harry Vanda
and George Young, who were then in the process of becoming Australia’s
hottest hitmakers.
One of the few truly genuine rock epics, “Evie” was a three-part suite that
utilized memorable lyrics and dramatic arrangements to tell the full arch of a
relationship in eleven minutes. The first part (subtitled “Let Your Hair Hang
Down”) was a raucous rocker—clearly an early blueprint for what Vanda and
Young would later accomplish with AC/DC—and it told of the courtship of
Evie. The second was a tender, believable piano ballad celebrating the good
times, while the third (subtitled “I’m Losing You”) was an anguished cry of a
relationship on its last legs. All three parts could be enjoyed individually, but the
synergy found in the complete work was undeniable.
Despite its unfashionable length, “Evie” was a massive hit in Australia and
pushed Hard Road to No. 2 in the charts. JiH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Songs about record labels and their owners are rarely complimentary: witness
“E.M.I.” by the Sex Pistols. “Free Man in Paris,” however, is relatively
affectionate. “I wrote that in Paris for David Geffen, taking a lot of it from the
things he said,” Mitchell told the Los Angeles Times. “He begged me to take it
off the record. I think he felt uncomfortable being shown in that light.”
Mitchell played the song’s parent album to Geffen (then president of
Asylum) and his latest signing, Bob Dylan. “Court and Spark, which was a big
breakthrough for me, was being entirely and almost rudely dismissed,” she told
Cameron Crowe in Rolling Stone. “Geffen’s excuse was, since I was living in a
room in his house at the time, that he had heard it through all of its stages, and it
was no longer any surprise to him.”
The lyrics depict Geffen, “unfettered and alive,” wandering the Champs-
Élysées, away from people “calling me up for favors.” “If taken at his word (or
Joni’s translation, per se),” observed Sufjan Stevens, “Geffen comes off as an
A&R curmudgeon, wary of the tedium of Hollywood, pining for the romance of
Paris. [Ironically] Geffen’s indignation is aimed at the very industry he helped
create.”
The gloriously sunny music featured flute by Tom Scott, backing vocals
from David Crosby and Graham Nash, and guitar by José Feliciano. The song
became Mitchell’s final major hit. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“I Will Always Love You” is a story of two cover versions, one that was and one
that might have been. The song was originally a modest hit for Dolly Parton in
1974 and 1982. Written to lament the end of Parton’s formative (and entirely
non-romantic) musical partnership with sharp-dressing country legend Porter
Wagoner, “I Will Always Love You” was twice a country No. 1 but never
troubled the pop charts. Then Whitney Houston got hold of it in 1992 and turned
an understated country love song into a gargantuan, release-the-diva soul ballad.
Recorded for the soundtrack of cinematic melodrama The Bodyguard, “I Will
Always . . .” was No. 1 in the United States for fourteen weeks and sold more
than thirteen million singles around the world—a record for a female artist.
Which brings us to the second cover version, the one that never was. While
Parton’s sprightly tune was still wowing country audiences, it reached the ears of
Elvis Presley and his manager, Colonel Tom Parker, who decided it would make
ideal chart-fodder for the laboring King. However, when Parton discovered this
would mean signing over half the publishing rights, as was the custom when
dealing with Parker, she refused. Although it denied us the chance to hear
Presley’s tonsils wrapped round her perky tune, the decision paid off nearly
twenty years later, when Houston’s version earned Parton a cool $6 million. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Norro Wilson, Carmol Taylor, George Richey Producer | Billy Sherrill
Label | Epic
Album | The Grand Tour (1974)
It’s revealing that George Jones’s autobiography allocates only a handful of its
pages to the singer’s records. Nashville’s Sinatra, a towering talent who’s
reached the Top Ten of the country singles chart on more than seventy
occasions, is reduced by his own pen—or, more likely, that of his ghostwriter—
to a collection of anecdotes, many built around the singer’s legendary alcohol
problem.
The irony in this is that Jones’s music often referenced his own life, a classic
Nashville tactic for bridging the gap between music-business artifice and
country’s treasured aspirations toward authenticity. The singer sang of his battles
with the bottle—“If Drinkin’ Don’t Kill Me (Her Memory Will)”—and his
romantic travails in countless singles, among them a pair of duets with Tammy
Wynette that fictionalized the couple’s marriage (“The Ceremony”) and divorce
(“Golden Ring”).
“The Grand Tour” sees Jones guiding the listener around the home he used
to share with a wife who’s walked out on him, “Taking nothing but our baby and
my heart.” Jones’s longtime producer, Billy Sherrill, occasionally overegged his
puddings, but not here: the sympathetic arrangement is undeniably sentimental
but never mawkish. Still, “The Grand Tour” isn’t Sherrill’s record but Jones’s,
thanks to what might be the finest ever vocal performance by perhaps the
greatest interpreter of song in country-music history. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Louisiana 1927
Randy Newman (1974)
In the autumn of 1926, rain fell relentlessly on the middle south of the United
States for months. To avoid the destruction of New Orleans, levees upstream of
the city were dynamited, while others ruptured. The city was spared, but the
resulting flood the following year killed hundreds and left more than 700,000
homeless across Louisiana and Mississippi.
Half a century later, Randy Newman, a New Orleans native, saw the former
governor of Georgia and one-time segregationist Lester Maddox lambasted on
Dick Cavett’s TV talk show. It was the spark for a song cycle that took a very
unorthodox approach to exploring the off-kilter romanticism of the American
South. With some shuffling and replacing, the set of songs developed into the
album Good Old Boys.
“Louisiana 1927” is a brilliant ode to Newman’s devastated home state. The
lush, full orchestra heard at the song’s opening evokes all the pomp of a formal
cotillion, only to be undercut by spare piano and Newman’s unassuming voice
explaining what happened “to this poor crackers’ land.”
In 2005, disaster struck again when Hurricane Katrina nearly washed New
Orleans from the map. The spirit of Newman’s song, with its references to
shrugging politicians and the bitter plight of the disenfranchised, still rang only
too true. Fittingly, Newman re-recorded the track for a benefit album to aid the
people of his one-time home. TS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In 1974, Stevie Wonder was at the peak of his abilities. Just twenty-three years
old, he had freed himself from the shackles of the Motown hit machine and had
recorded three groundbreaking albums that put him at the forefront of the
world’s music scene. While other soul artists had dabbled with politics and civil
rights and then returned to a more conventional pop path, for the debut release
from his album Fulfillingness’ First Finale, Wonder was completely incensed by
the turmoil at the heart of U.S. government.
With its opening bark of “We are amazed and not amused by all the things
you say and you do,” “You Haven’t Done Nothin’” rails against U.S. president
Richard Nixon, who, at the time of recording, was embroiled in the Watergate
scandal. Working with engineers Robert Margouleff and Malcolm Cecil,
Wonder played everything on the track, apart from Reggie McBride’s bass;
Motown stablemates The Jackson 5 added backing vocals.
The single was released in August 1974, the same month Nixon was to
resign, and the potency of an acclaimed artist releasing new material that chimed
with such a tumultuous event sent the record to the top of the charts. It may not
have been one of Wonder’s greater melodious statements, but “You Haven’t
Done Nothin’” remains marvellous and aggressive, dirty funk agit-pop that
pioneered the use of the drum machine. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Ron Mael Producer | Muff Winwood Label | Island Album | Kimono
My House (1974)
Formed by Ron Mael (keyboards) and his younger brother Russell (vocals) in
Los Angeles at the end of the Sixties, Sparks, as they became known, were
always a square peg in a round hole in America. Their music owed more to
British beat and Weimar Germany than to the feel-good vibe rolling in from the
Pacific. After two albums on Bearsville and a visit to London in late 1972,
manager John Hewlett saw the brothers’ potential in a U.K. chart dominated
increasingly by eccentrics.
The brothers relocated to London, where Simon Napier-Bell protégé and ex–
John’s Children bassist Hewlett found them a new band—bassist Martin
Gordon, guitarist Adrian Fisher, and drummer Norman “Dinky” Diamond—and
got a deal with Island Records. The resultant album, Kimono My House, is one
of the strangest, most discrete works of the 1970s. It was dwarfed by this, its
lead single. With sound-effect gunshots added by engineer Richard Digby-
Smith, Ron Mael’s filmic writing, and Russell Mael’s exaggerated staccato
delivery, it makes for one of the most breathtaking moments of that decade’s
pop. That Ron resembled Adolf Hitler and Russell looked like a pretty boy
added to their immediate novelty the moment the record crashed onto British
weekly chart show Top of the Pops. The song reached No. 2 in the U.K. charts.
Four decades and nineteen albums later, it is still a cornerstone of their live
shows. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Despite its misleading (and controversial) title, “Only Women Bleed” is a ballad
rather than part of the shock-rock canon for which Alice Cooper is best known—
in fact, Atlantic abbreviated the title to “Only Women” for the shorter version of
the single, released ahead of its inclusion on parent album Welcome to My
Nightmare.
However, it still had some shock value, mainly because of the widespread,
but mistaken, idea that the song made reference to menstruation. The lyrics,
however, are unambiguous: the song is about women in repressive and abusive
relationships. Even this managed to raise some hackles, particularly among
feminists, who took issue with the fact that it was written and performed by a
man—and, what’s more, a man who had adopted a woman’s name and was
known for his notoriously violent, Grand Guignol–style stage act.
Nevertheless, “Only Women Bleed” was a surprise hit for Cooper (backed
with the vicious classic “Cold Ethyl”), which helped to launch the concept
album Welcome to My Nightmare, the film of its live performance, and a
television special, The Nightmare, featuring Vincent Price. It was the first time
the name Alice Cooper referred solely to the singer; previously it had applied
both to him and his band.
“Only Women Bleed” was rumored to be about Cooper’s friend Tina Turner,
who later recorded the song herself. Many other women also ignored the
controversy and embraced the song, including Julie Covington, Etta James, Elkie
Brooks, Lita Ford, Tori Amos, and Tina Arena. More disturbingly, Guns N’
Roses reinstated it into a macho hard-rock setting, using it to lead into “Knockin’
on Heaven’s Door” in their live act. MW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Jive Talkin’
Bee Gees (1975)
“We were over the moon about ‘Jive Talkin’, ’ but when we played it
to people at the record company, they didn’t want it.”
Maurice Gibb, 1998
By 1973, the Bee Gees had hit the commercial buffers, the steady run of smashes
now reduced to a trickle, the band notoriously consigned to cabaret turns at low-
rent venues. That year’s Life in a Tin Can album did little to halt the decline, but,
on friend Eric Clapton’s advice, the follow-up—Mr. Natural, in 1974—teamed
the Gibbs with legendary R&B producer Arif Mardin, who would coax them in a
new direction.
Although Mr. Natural failed to spawn hits, band and producer were back in
harness for Main Course (1975), and this time Mardin had ideas. He encouraged
the brothers to listen to Stevie Wonder and other contemporary artists, and
suggested Barry Gibb might like to broaden his vocal range. “I asked Barry to
take his vocal up one octave,” Mardin later revealed. “That’s how their falsetto
was born.”
“Jive Talkin’” showcased the revolutionary vocal sound, but equally
inspirational was the early-disco rhythm track pinning the song down. “There’s a
bridge that we had to cross on the way to the studio,” Maurice Gibb recalled,
“and every time we crossed it, the car would make a clicketyclack sound.”
Realizing the funk behind those rickety rhythms, and adding the distinctive ARP
2600 synthesizer bass line from keyboard player Blue Weaver, the Bee Gees
found themselves with a dance track that revived their fortunes. Despite coy
initial airings under the cloak of a white label, “Jive Talkin’” soared to No. 1 on
the U.S. chart and enjoyed No. 5 success in the United Kingdom, setting the
pace for a triumphant few years.
In 1977, “Jive Talkin’” popped up again on the Saturday Night Fever
soundtrack, seamlessly blending with the band’s disco zenith, a reminder of
where it all began. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Boulder to Birmingham
Emmylou Harris (1975)
Writer | Emmylou Harris, Bill Danoff Producer | Brian Ahern Label | Reprise
Album | Pieces of the Sky (1975)
Born into an army family in 1947, Emmylou Harris came to country music in a
roundabout way. Her musical passions were first aroused by the Sixties folk
revival, obsessing as a teenager over Bob Dylan and Joan Baez. Moving to New
York, Harris cut her first album, the folky Gliding Bird, in 1970. However, when
the album bombed and her marriage collapsed, Harris returned home to live with
her parents outside Washington, D.C.
The singer’s epiphany came in 1971, when Gram Parsons, just then
embarking on a solo career, asked former bandmate Chris Hillman if he knew
any female singers with whom he could duet. Hillman had just seen Harris sing
in a Washington folk club, and the pair connected over a few songs. Harris
thought that would be all she’d ever hear from the famously erratic singer, but
Parsons soon flew her out to L.A. to work on his solo debut, effectively serving
as Harris’s musical mentor for her second-chance musical career.
Harris was heartbroken when, in 1973, Parsons overdosed in a motel in the
Californian desert. But the reputation she’d earned as his co-vocalist led to a
record contract of her own and to the release of Pieces of the Sky. That the
record was an immediate success was due in no small part to the presence of
“Boulder to Birmingham,” Harris’s gorgeous tribute to her former friend and the
album’s undoubted centerpiece. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
By the mid-Seventies, The Isley Brothers had become true innovators. They
expanded on their old funk-rock template and released a series of breathtaking
records that wedded Ronald Isley’s angelic voice to Ernie Isley’s blistering rock
guitar.
Although the brother’s sheer presence and commercial success had been
themselves a political statement, and records such as “It’s Your Thing” and “The
Blacker the Berry” had indeed been interpreted as radical, “Fight the Power,” the
lead track from their The Heat Is On album, was one that could be seen as
incendiary.
The idea came to guitarist Ernie Isley in the shower one morning when he
began singing the first two lines straight out. The song talks of rising up against
authority and red tape, and, after “rolling with the punches” only to get “knocked
to the ground,” it is time to make a stand against “all this bullshit going down.”
Much fuss was made about the use of the word “bullshit” in the chorus, a very
radical choice of word in 1975.
This song was a late addition to the ranks of protest numbers, although the
Isleys were quick to point out that the power it railed against could indeed be all
authority rather than a simple issue of black versus white. It certainly captured
the post-Watergate mood in the United States—the record scorched to the top of
the R&B chart in July and hit the Top Ten of the pop chart as well. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
One of the biggest hits of the disco era, “That’s the Way (I Like It)” was the
second No. 1 for KC & The Sunshine Band, topping the U.S. charts twice in
November and December 1975. Co-writers and -producers Richard Finch and
Harry Wayne “KC” Casey got together in the early Seventies, when Finch
worked as an engineer at the TK studio in Florida and moonlighted on bass with
a band called The Ocean Liners. Casey, a record-store worker, joined the band
on keyboards, and the two soon developed a close friendship and songwriting
partnership, forming the multiracial and multimember KC & The Sunshine Band
in 1973 along with fellow Ocean Liners Jerome Smith (guitar) and Robert
Johnson (drums). Their first success, though, was not under their name but for
George McCrae with “Rock Your Baby,” in 1974, penned and produced by
Casey and Finch and backed by The Sunshine Band. The next year, the band
released their eponymous album, including the R&B chart-topper “Get Down
Tonight” and their first hit, “That’s the Way (I Like It).”
Although the lyrics are transparently sexual, emphasized by the “uh-huhs”
alternating between Casey and the female backing vocalists, this was a toned-
down version of the original recording, which would have jeopardized getting
airplay in 1975, though no doubt the suggestiveness added to its appeal on the
dance floor. MW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Kalimankou denkou
Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares (1975)
This is a musical mystery in every sense. When U.K. label 4AD issued the Le
mystère des voix bulgares album in 1986, they gave no information on the
performers. Ivo Watts-Russell, 4AD’s co-founder, wrote that he had first heard
this music via a cassette given to him by Peter Murphy (vocalist for Bauhaus,
another 4AD act), and mentioned that Swiss ethnomusicologist Marcel Cellier
had gathered the singers and recorded them singing these ancient songs. This is
misleading.
Cellier had traveled in communist Bulgaria, where he heard the Bulgarian
State Television Female Vocal Choir (BSTVFVC). This choir, often consisting
of up to twenty-one vocalists, were shaped by composer Philip Koutev so as to
blend Bulgarian-village polyphony singing with Western classical music’s
concepts of harmony and form.
“Kalimankou Denkou” is an outstanding example of the choir at work, their
piercing voices building a dense, otherworldly music. Cellier took tapes of the
BSTVFVC back to Switzerland and issued them locally in 1975. Quickly
deleted, the recordings existed only on shared tapes thereafter, which led to 4AD
tracking down Cellier and licensing the music.
An underground hit, Le mystère des voix bulgares still sounds eerie and
beautiful. Ironically, however, in today’s post-Communist Bulgaria, there is little
interest in polyphonic choirs. GC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Marcus Garvey
Burning Spear (1975)
Winston Rodney began his recording career after a chance encounter with Bob
Marley in Jamaica. Marley encouraged Rodney to visit legendary producer
Clement “Coxsone” Dodd at his Studio One base in Kingston. Starting out as a
duo with co-vocalist Rupert Willington, he debuted with the Dodd-produced
“Door Peep” in 1969, adopting the name Burning Spear—the nickname given to
Jomo Kenyatta, a political activist imprisoned by the British colonial
government in East Africa, who was later to become the first president of Kenya.
Vocalist Delroy Hinds subsequently joined, too.
By 1975, Rodney’s working relationship with Dodd had broken down, so the
trio decamped to work with Jack Ruby on their third album, Marcus Garvey.
The title track was a tribute to the philosopher and activist who posthumously
became the prophet of Rastafarianism; Rodney had become greatly influenced
by his message of Pan-African unity and independence. Indeed, such was the
success of this track, with its message of oppression and redemption, and funky,
polyrhythmic, horn-laden sound, it hooked American and European listeners.
Backed up musically by the Black Disciples—an assortment of some of
Jamaica’s finest, including bassist Robbie Shakespeare—the track’s parent
album was an instant success, leading to an international release on Island
Records. CS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Bohemian Rhapsody
Queen (1975)
“He knew exactly what he was doing. It was Freddie’s baby. We just
helped him bring it to life.”
Brian May, 2002
Gloria
Patti Smith (1975)
“I wrote that line when I was twenty years old. A lot of people
misinterpreted it as the statement of an atheist.”
Patti Smith, 1996
Dumb, simple, and brutal, “Gloria,” Van Morrison’s hymn to lust, became the
record every three-chord guitarist wanted to emulate, with The Shadows of
Knight taking it into the Top Ten in the United States, and U2, Joe Strummer,
and Bruce Springsteen among the legions acknowledging it as a foundation
stone of rock ‘n’ roll.
It is fitting, therefore, that the song became punk’s curtain-raiser as the
opening track on Patti Smith’s debut album, Horses. The song is divided in two,
with Smith’s “Gloria in Excelsis Deo” segueing into “the Van Morrison
version.” Smith’s earlier part has an opening line that few of the punk poets
would ever match: “Jesus died for somebody’s sins but not mine.” You can
correctly infer from this that the singer has no plans to return the eponymous
heroine to her roots in Catholic doxology.
In Smith’s “Gloria,” the singer goes to a party where, bored, she looks
outside and espies a sweet young thing “Humpin’ on the parking meter, leanin’
on the parking meter.” Smith is transfixed by this sight, but it appears to be
Gloria, not her, who is put under a spell: “Here she comes / Crawlin’ up my
stair.” Smith will “take the big plunge,” afterward insisting, “and I’m gonna tell
the world that I just ah-ah made her mine.” Even when, later in the song, Smith
is on stage in a stadium with 20,000 girls screaming their names at her, there is
only one she wants to remember.
From foreplay to climax, once Gloria got to the singer’s room, Van Morrison
and Them could make it last twenty minutes; Jim Morrison and The Doors
would take half that time but be more explicit. Yet people dismiss the song as
pop reductio ad absurdum. It just goes to show: the men don’t know, but the
little girls understand. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Tangled Up in Blue
Bob Dylan (1975)
If there were an award for heartbreaking albums, then Bob Dylan’s Blood on the
Tracks would have racked up a whole shelf. Though Dylan has said that the
songs are inspired by Chekhov’s short stories, the timing coincided with the
breakdown of his marriage to Sara Lowndes; the couple’s son, Jakob, has said
that listening to the album, to him, sounds like hearing his parents talking.
“Tangled Up in Blue,” the album’s opening song, sets the tone. The lyrics
track the course of a relationship, but from scattered viewpoints—a songwriting
style that grew from Dylan’s fascination with Cubism: “There’s a code in the
lyrics, and there’s also no sense of time,” he revealed in 1978. “There’s no
respect for it. You’ve got yesterday, today, and tomorrow all in the same room,
and there’s very little you can’t imagine not happening.”
The song, then, becomes a collage of shards; potent images such as the side
of a woman’s face in the spotlight at a topless bar, or the book of poetry she later
shows him, its lines glowing off the page. Emotionally, it creates a seesaw
effect: they’re together, they’re apart, they’re together, and so on. Musically, this
same motion is reflected in chords that pull apart and then resolve. Dylan has
restructured the lyrics of this nuanced song in his live performances. Once, he
even introduced the song by saying that “Tangled Up in Blue” took him ten
years to live and two years to write. SH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Steven Tyler, Joe Perry Producer | Jack Douglas Label | Columbia
Album | Toys in the Attic (1975)
“Let’s try to write something funky so we don’t have to cover James Brown,”
suggested guitarist Joe Perry to his bandmates. For their third album, Aerosmith
were keen to expand beyond their Stones and Yardbirds foundations. Perry,
under the influence of New Orleans funkateers The Meters, devised a riff, and
“added it to another one I came up with while watching a Godzilla movie.”
The lyrics came less easily to singer Steven Tyler. His bandmates eased their
frustration with an outing to see Mel Brooks’s Young Frankenstein. “There’s a
part in the movie,” recalled bassist Tom Hamilton, “where Igor says, ‘Walk this
way,’ and the other guy walks the same way with the same hump and
everything. We thought it was the funniest thing we’d ever seen. . . . So we told
Steven, the name of this song has got to be ‘Walk This Way,’ and he took it
from there.”
A belated U.S. hit in 1976, the song was resurrected a decade later by Run-
DMC, who invited Tyler and Perry to guest on the recording. The subsequent hit
revived Aerosmith’s career and paved the way for rock ’n’ rap unions. The song
has become a cornerstone of Aerosmith’s shows, notably their 2001 Super Bowl
performance with Britney Spears. “Tyler wasn’t able to persuade Spears to take
the ‘Ain’t seen nothin’ till you’re down on the muffin’ line,” lamented Rolling
Stone. “Sighed Tyler, ‘She wasn’t having any of it.’” BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | David Gilmour, Roger Waters Producer | Pink Floyd Label | Harvest
Album | Wish You Were Here (1975)
An album about anxiety brought fame and fortune to Pink Floyd. Fittingly,
therefore, they had trouble following Dark Side of the Moon. “The only way I
could retain interest in the project,” remembered leader Roger Waters, “was to
try to make the album relate to what was going on there and then, i.e., the fact
that no one was really looking each other in the eye, and that it was all very
mechanical.”
From this frustration emerged the title track. As cynical in its way as the
accompanying “Welcome to the Machine” and “Have a Cigar,” “Wish You
Were Here” was redeemed by Waters’s evocative poetry—“Two lost souls
swimming in a fish bowl”—and David Gilmour’s heartbreaking guitar parts. The
requisite Floydian tricksiness consisted of a snippet of Tchaikovsky’s Fourth
Symphony, followed by a segment designed to sound like—in Gilmour’s words
—“one person sitting in the room playing guitar along with the radio.”
The song became a favorite at latter-day Floyd and solo shows; notably when
Rick Wright’s piano added to its pastoral charms, such as on Gilmour’s Live in
Gdańsk,, issued just after the keyboardist’s death in 2008. Its most poignant
performance came when the estranged Waters and Gilmour reunited with Wright
and drummer Nick Mason for Live8 in 2005. Waters dedicated the song to the
band’s founder, Syd Barrett, displaying the spark of humanity that powers the
Floyd machine. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Time of the Preacher” is one of those songs that have two wildly different lives.
For some, it is the laconic and chilling tune that opens Willie Nelson’s
unsurpassed country concept album, Red Headed Stranger, and then reappears
throughout as a narrative theme. For others, it is the song that underscores an
unforgettable scene in the classic British TV drama Edge of Darkness. Such is
the power of a great song—somebody else can take it and give it a second life
beyond anything the writer could ever possibly have imagined.
Nelson himself would probably love this juxtaposition. A country songwriter
from the genre’s rebel liberal fringe, he had written a series of hit songs for
Nashville professionals—most notably “Crazy” for Patsy Cline—before striking
out his own. In the Seventies, he moved to Austin, Texas, and fomented the
Outlaw Country movement. He’d already scored some hits, but nothing to match
Red Headed Stranger, an album about a preacher who kills his wife and lover.
This beautiful, distinctively poetic album somehow managed to sell several
million copies, and “Time of the Preacher” epitomizes the album’s subtle yet
confident qualities. That’s largely thanks to Nelson’s singular voice, plaintive
but determined as he croons the story of the man who “cried like a baby /
Screamed like a panther in the middle of the night” after his love left him. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Rimmel
Francesco De Gregori (1975)
“Rimmel” (a word for mascara in Italy) is the song that has probably become
most strongly identified with singer-songwriter Francesco De Gregori. It
demonstrates the typical characteristics of the popular Roman singer: hermetic
lyrics and clear echoes of the American folk-rock music that influenced him, in
particular Bob Dylan, James Taylor, and Neil Young.
The song “Rimmel” appears on the album of the same name, which was one
of the biggest-selling LPs in Italy in the Seventies. De Gregori’s first two—
acoustic-guitar-driven—albums had passed relatively unnoticed, but “Rimmel”
marked an important change in direction and fortunes for the musician. His
lyrics had previously reflected his left-wing political sensibilities, but on
“Rimmel,” De Gregori—who is commonly known in his native country as “Il
principe poeta” (The Poet Prince)—switched his focus to love songs, adding
keyboards, drums, bass, and backing vocals to his spare acoustic sound.
With its elegant piano melody and unusual poetic imagery, “Rimmel” is the
singer’s bittersweet farewell to an ex-lover. It became De Gregori’s signature
song and, along with at least half of the songs on the album (including “Pezzi di
vetro” and “Buonanotte fiorellini”), became part of his greatest hits canon,
turning the Poet Prince into a pop superstar. LSc See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Musica ribelle
Eugenio Finardi (1975)
“Actually, ‘Musica ribelle’ was not about pure rage; it was a lucid
attempt to suggest an originally Italian way to rock.”
Eugenio Finardi, 2009
When “Musica ribelle” (Rebel Music) was released by the newly created
independent label Cramps in 1975, it was like a stone hitting the stagnant pond
of Italian pop music. It was the first true Italian rock song to become a big hit,
helped by the B-side, “La radio,” a jingle written for Italy’s first independent
radio station. It became a generational anthem.
Eugenio Finardi, half American on his mother’s side, had been singing rock
blues in the Milan underground scene for years with friends such as the
legendary Demetrio Stratos, but the highly charged social and political
atmosphere of the time made him want to contribute to the struggle with his
songs. He wanted a sound that had the energy and rebelliousness of British-
American rock but was rooted in Italian musical tradition. The result was
original and exciting: electric mandolins played through 200-watt Marshall
amps, frantic drums louder than the vocal, and wild guitar solos in major keys.
The album Sugo soon hit the charts, its success largely attributable to its
urgency, anger, and political commitment.
The lyrics of “Musica ribelle” capture Finardi’s feeling that people were
coming together and rising against the system. He sings urgently, “There is
something in the air that you just can’t ignore . . . It’s a growing wave that
follows wherever you go / It’s music, rebel music.”
“Musica ribelle” was recorded live in one take on the first day of sessions for
the album Sugo. Finardi sang and played acoustic guitar, Lucio Fabbri piano and
violin, and much of the energy of the song came from interplay between Hugh
Bullen on bass and Walter Calloni on drums. Together they created an
irresistible texture and a truly original sound that has dated very little. LSc
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Born to Run
Bruce Springsteen (1975)
“The words ‘born to run’ just came to me in bed,” claimed Bruce Springsteen.
“They suggested a cinematic drama that would work with the music I heard in
my head.” The Boss’s head was full of dreams when the song became the first
recorded, in 1974, for his third album. That collection was originally envisaged
as a concept affair, with song titles mooted before even a note was written
—“Born to Run” itself was previously known as “Wild Angels” or “That
Angel.”
Springsteen labored at length on the song—“A twenty-four-year-old kid
aimin’ at the greatest rock ’n’ roll record ever,” he later drily observed of the
process. Fan magazine Backstreets reported: “At least four different mixes are
known to exist that include strings [and] a female chorus.” The lyrics, too,
underwent multiple revisions, from an early emphasis on “the American night”
and specific New Jersey references, to cameos by James Dean and Elvis Presley.
The song debuted in Springsteen’s shows more than a year before its release.
A review of one from future manager Jon Landau led to his famous quote: “I
saw rock ‘n’ roll’s future and its name is Bruce Springsteen.” The song was even
recorded—albeit not released—by Hollies singer Allan Clarke before the Boss’s
version came out.
When “Born to Run” was eventually released, in August 1975, it was as if
the famous Spector “wall of sound” had been rebuilt. “He definitely made a
concerted effort to write a Phil Spector record,” confirmed Springsteen’s then-
manager and co-producer, Mike Appel. The rousing song finally brought the
Boss mainstream popularity and, like Spector’s work, helped form the
foundations of future rock ’n’ roll. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Leb’ Wohl
NEU! (1975)
Writer | Klaus Dinger, Michael Rother Producer | Conny Plank Label | Brain
Album | NEU! ’75 (1975)
Formed in 1971 after guitarist Michael Rother and drummer Klaus Dinger
absconded from an early incarnation of Kraftwerk, NEU! started their career by
inventing one of the most influential drumming styles ever—the driving beat
dubbed motorik. “Hallogallo,” the first track on their first LP (NEU!, 1972) not
only introduced this superminimal rhythm but laid out NEU!’s formula with
crystal clarity: Rother as the serene dreamer, teasing away at a golden E-major
chord, and Dinger as the primal, primitive force, thrashing away at his kit until
blood flecked the cymbals.
For two albums, NEU! made music out of this fire-and-ice synthesis, but by
1973, the pair’s differences had led to a temporary hiatus. In 1975, though, they
reconvened at krautrock producer Conny Plank’s studio for their climactic,
schizophrenic masterpiece: NEU! ’75. The album peaks with “Leb’ Wohl,” a
nine-minute track nothing like anything they had ever done before. The title
meant “Farewell,” and this was NEU! at their most wistful, commencing with
crashing waves and a distant storm of minimalist piano and building into a
tranquil elegy of keys and hushed, echo-soaked vocals.
As the title suggested, that was it for NEU!, and they split again. Hugely
influential, they have since been hailed by figures ranging from David Bowie to
Noel Gallagher. LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Legalize It
Peter Tosh (1975)
The title track off the ex-Wailer’s debut album, “Legalize It” was banned when
released in Jamaica in 1975. Attempts to suppress it, however, proved futile, and
the track became the hit of the year, catapulting Jamaica’s “Bushdoctor” to
international fame.
“Herb will become like cigarettes,” Peter Tosh predicted in an NME
interview in 1978. While its pro-ganja lyrics and pot-smoking cover pose—and
mythical marijuana-scented sticker—may have promoted sales, this upbeat
ballad is more than just a stoner’s party anthem. Deep and authoritative, Tosh,
backed by an infectious melody courtesy of The Wailers’ instrumental quintet,
demands: “Legalize it and I will advertise it,” while two of the I-Threes (Rita
Marley and Judy Mowatt) coo in agreement. His upbeat attack and lyrical
provocations about marijuana’s medicinal use belie his sincere concern for
political issues.
Written in response to his ongoing victimization at the hands of the Jamaican
police, “Legalize It” is, at heart, a pro-Rastafarian hymn that celebrates
marijuana as a sacrament within the religion. “Herb? Vegetables? We are the
victims of Ras clot circumstances. Victimization, colonialism, gonna lead to
bloodbath,” explained Tosh in Reggae Bloodlines (1977). Words that proved
tragically prophetic in the light of his violent death, allegedly at the hands of
drug dealers, in 1987. MK
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
A haunting moment that contrasted with the heavier fare of their catalog,
“(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” earned Blue Öyster Cult their breakthrough to
mainstream success a full nine years after the group formed, and helped parent
album Agents of Fortune become their first platinum release.
While the group had previously enrolled the likes of rock critic Richard
Meltzer and sci-fi author Michael Moorcock to help pen their lyrics, “(Don’t
Fear) The Reaper” was written by guitarist Donald “Buck Dharma” Roeser and
inspired by a bout of heart trouble, during which Roeser feared he might die.
There’s a certain morbid air to the song’s tale of a dead boy coming back to find
his girlfriend has waited for him—the lyrics allude to Romeo and Juliet,
“Together in eternity”—which was later interpreted by some listeners as a paean
to suicide. This interpretation horrified Dharma, who admitted in 1995 that
“some people were seeing it as an advertisement for suicide or something, but
that was not my intention at all.” This dark lyrical undertow is a perfect balance
for the song’s sweetly sad melody and the haunted Byrdsian harmonies, though.
With a prog-rock, mid-song instrumental break excised from the album version,
the track became a smash hit—it was voted Best Rock Single of 1976 by Rolling
Stone—and a much-loved rock classic. SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Tom Scholz Producer | John Boylan, Tom Scholz Label | Epic
Album | Boston (1976)
Boston were signed to Epic in 1975 on the strength of a demo made by Tom
Scholz at his home studio. After six years of trying to break into the music
business, the demo, with its lead song, “More Than a Feeling,” saw multi-
instrumentalist Scholz and singer Brad Delp realize their dream.
“More than a Feeling” is bold, exciting, and brief. It is also remarkable as
everything on it, apart from Sib Hashian’s drumming, is played by Scholz—the
charging rhythm guitar, the searing solos, the acoustic breakdowns. However, it
is Delp’s impassioned vocals that make Scholz’s words so poignant. Taking a
routine subject matter—how music can uplift you—they make dreaming of “a
girl he used to know” seem rich and meaningful. (The record indirectly referred
to in the song has been cited as either “Louie Louie” by The Kingsmen or “Walk
Away Renée” by The Left Banke.) In the days before a click of a computer
mouse would have brought her back to life, the vision of this long-lost love is
forever linked to this tune.
The song is ubiquitous (it is one of the most popular songs ever on the video
game Guitar Hero) but still, in some ways, underrated. Its message of losing
yourself in music has made it something of a slacker anthem, reinforced by Kurt
Cobain’s referencing its riff on “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” Ironic, as Scholz had
done something similar for “More than a Feeling.” DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Sir Duke
Stevie Wonder (1976)
Written as a tribute to bandleader and composer Duke Ellington, who had died in
1974, “Sir Duke” was one of several songs Wonder wrote in homage to his
musical heroes: the album Tribute to Uncle Ray (1962) was a nod to Ray
Charles; “Bye Bye World” (1968) and “We All Remember Wes” were paeans to
guitarist Wes Montgomery. As well as Ellington, Wonder name-checks other
giants of the swing-band era in “Sir Duke”—bandleaders Count Basie and Glenn
Miller, trumpeter and singer Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong, and singer Ella
Fitzgerald.
“Sir Duke” kicks off with a distinctive brass intro that gives little preparation
for the funky groove that will follow. The horns—two trumpets and alto and
tenor sax—return to punctuate the verse, underlining the words “But just
because a record has a groove / Don’t make it in the groove.” It is the mightily
swinging instrumental interlude that provides the hook of the song, though, and
makes the connection with the “Duke” of the title.
First appearing on his best-selling album Songs in the Key of Life in 1976,
“Sir Duke” was released as a single in 1977, following the chart-topping success
of “I Wish” from the same album. It too reached No. 1 in both pop and R&B
charts in the States, getting to No. 2 in the U.K. singles chart. The album, and the
two hit singles that it spawned, marked the climax—and the end—of what is
considered Wonder’s “classic period.” MW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Rod Stewart had enjoyed a pivotal year in 1975, moving to the United States and
finally bidding farewell to his cheeky rocker persona—and his band, The Faces.
Recording the knowingly titled Atlantic Crossing with soul producer Tom
Dowd, Stewart moved into the next phase of his career, filing down his edges
and courting a mainstream audience. Dividends were swift, with “Sailing,” but
many felt something had been lost.
Dowd was still in place for A Night on the Town and so was the crowd-
pleasing soft-soul sheen. Against this backdrop, “The Killing of Georgie (Parts I
& II)” stood out all the more. Reputedly a true story about a gay man from
Denver who, disowned by his family, took to shadowing The Faces at their New
York gigs, the song takes a thorny and progressive subject and treats it to the
kind of careworn folk-soul rendering familiar from Bob Dylan’s Blood on the
Tracks (1975). Although Georgie’s murder is not specifically related to his
homosexuality, the song still demands considerable sensitivity, and Stewart
avoids triteness and moralizing with poignancy, aplomb, and a heart-wrenching
melody.
The melody in the coda masquerading as Part II appears to draw on The
Beatles’ “Don’t Let Me Down,” another welcome sign that Stewart could still
exercise an emotional pull even as his muse appeared to be deserting him. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Dancing Queen
Abba (1976)
“I loved it from the very beginning when Benny brought home the
backing track. . . . It was so beautiful I started to cry.”
Anni-Frid “Frida” Lyngstad, 1994
From The Rolling Stones’ “Satisfaction” to Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit,”
there’s no lack of identifiable rock anthems. But what about the pop epic?
Survey random wedding receptions, karaoke bars, and pre-“tweens” slumber
parties, and Abba’s “Dancing Queen” is likely to land at the top of most
shortlists.
By 1976, Abba (couples Björn Ulvaeus and Agnetha Fältskog, and Benny
Andersson and Anni-Frid “Frida” Lyngstad) had already established themselves
with chart successes such as “Waterloo,” “S.O.S.,” and “Fernando.” However,
“Dancing Queen,” released late that year, would net them their first and only No.
1 in the United States (it reached the top spot in thirteen other countries
worldwide) and across much of Europe. Fältskog has admitted in a television
interview that “it’s often difficult to know what will be a hit. The exception was
‘Dancing Queen.’ We all knew it was going to be massive.”
The track has all the components necessary for pop immortality: cheerfully
defiant upper-range piano chords, sprightly disco strings, and sweetly blended
vocals from Lyngstad and Fältskog. Always planned as a dance number, the
song was originally going to be titled “Boogaloo,” and its backbeat was inspired
by the rhythm of George McCrae’s disco classic, “Rock Your Baby,” from 1974.
“Dancing Queen” lived up to its regal name in two different eras. It was
performed in Stockholm as part of a televised concert event on the eve of King
Carl XVI Gustav of Sweden’s wedding, in June 1976. In the same city almost
exactly sixteen years later, modern rock royalty U2 performed “Dancing Queen”
in concert, with Andersson guesting on keyboards and Ulvaeus on acoustic
guitar. YK
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Blitzkrieg Bop
Ramones (1976)
Writer | Dee Dee Ramone, Johnny Ramone, Tommy Ramone, Joey Ramone
Producer | Craig Leon
Label | Sire
Album | Ramones (1976)
Love Hangover
Diana Ross (1976)
The favored protégée of her label boss (and sometime lover), Berry Gordy,
Diana Ross was the brightest star of Motown’s firmament in the Sixties. As the
Seventies dawned, Ross redefined herself as a solo balladeer expertly blending
sentimentality and sophistication, but as the decade wore on, she found herself
edged off the dance floor by a coming wave of disco divas, in particular Donna
Summer, who’d won fame with her sensual epic, “Love to Love You Baby,” in
1975.
“Love Hangover” would be Ross’s response to these newcomers, but,
distrustful of disco, Motown was initially reluctant to assign the song—which
had just been recorded by labelmates The Fifth Dimension—to Ross. The singer
echoed her label’s reservations, but producer Hal Davis prevailed, assuaging the
diva’s anxieties by creating a party ambience in the studio, dressing the room
with colored lights and a disco strobe.
Ross loosened up with several shots of Rémy Martin, which she shared with
the musicians, her breathy postcoital purr announcing a raunchiness absent from
her previous recordings. The mid-song tempo shift into a restless but graceful
disco groove, meanwhile, assuredly returned Diana to the dance floor, thanks not
least to an opulent eleven-minute remix on the twelve-inch, extending the song’s
ecstatic coda and offering more of Ross’s sultry, improvised love coos. SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Cokane in My Brain
Dillinger (1976)
How do you spell New York? Never mind spelling out the letters—in his funky,
proto-rap hit, reggae DJ Dillinger spelled it out with the elliptical lyrics “A
knife, a fork, a bottle, and a cork.” There are many theories as to whether the
song’s ambiguous lyrics are pro-or anti-drugs, or if they are about the increasing
embourgeoisement of American soul music—cheekily pointed up by the
replication of the bass line to The People’s Choice’s disco hit “Do It Any Way
You Wanna”—and the prevalence of cocaine on the scene: “No matter where I
treat my guest / You see they always like my kitchen best.”
The song was initially released as a limited edition in Jamaica on an Island
Records imprint, Black Swan, and when sold internationally the following year,
it became an underground hit, making it to No. 1 in the Netherlands. Dillinger
was also particularly appreciated in the United Kingdom, where punks took him
to their hearts, with The Clash name-checking him in their classic “(White Man)
in Hammersmith Palais.”
The song was a huge hit for Dillinger, and one that he found it hard to move
past. In 1977, he released “Marijuana in My Brain,” followed by “LSD in My
Brain” (1983). Neither reached the heights of their progenitor, which still exerts
its pull on popular culture. It was arguably a big influence on the U.S. hip-hop
scene and has been remixed in acid-house and drum-and-bass versions. DC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
(I’m) Stranded
The Saints (1976)
Hotel California
Eagles (1976)
Writer | Don Felder, Glenn Frey, Don Henley Producer | Bill Szymczyk Label
| Asylum
Album | Hotel California (1976)
Few songs have had their lyrics dissected as much as this brooding classic. “A
song about the dark underbelly of the American dream” was how the band’s
drummer and vocalist, Don Henley, put it. Although the self-destruction and
hedonism rife in the Los Angeles music scene appear to be the underlying
theme, Henley also had a more personal take on the subject matter of “Hotel
California.” He dismissed the notion that specific girlfriends featured regularly
in the lyrics to many Eagles songs. Having said that, “Some of the more
derogatory parts of ‘Hotel California,’ however, are definitely about Loree
Rodkin: ‘Her mind is Tiffany-twisted, she got the Mercedes bends / She got a lot
of pretty, pretty boys that she calls friends.’ That’s about her, and I wouldn’t be
crowing if I were Ms. Rodkin,” Henley stated, after his long-term relationship
with the Chicago-born socialite had ended.
While Frey and Henley took care of most of the song’s lyrics, Don Felder’s
guitar dueling with the band’s relatively new recruit, Joe Walsh, was an equally
important part of the single’s success. It stretched the release time to six minutes
and thirty-one seconds, a length that almost denied it a release by label bosses,
who felt it was overlong for radio play. The band stood firm and persuaded
Asylum to go with it: a decision fully vindicated by the single’s U.S. No.1 and
U.K. No. 8 chart peaks. DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Roadrunner
The Modern Lovers (1976)
From Bobby Troup’s much-covered “(Get Your Kicks on) Route 66” to
Springsteen’s “Born to Run,” most driving songs are concerned with the
possibility of escape. By contrast, “Roadrunner” concerns itself with a road to
nowhere: Route 128, a sixty-mile (96-km) ring road separating Boston from its
suburbs. It’s not so much a road that only a local could love as one that only a
local would notice. Jonathan Richman was born and raised a ten-minute drive
away.
Richman left Boston for New York as a teenager in the late Sixties, reputedly
in search of The Velvet Underground. He headed home again soon after, but
connected with his heroes in 1972, when The Modern Lovers, the band he’d
formed on his return, recorded some demos under the watch of former Velvet
John Cale. Among them was “Roadrunner,” a two-chord, four-minute homage to
driving around at night “going faster miles an hour.” Richman went on to cut a
bewildering number of versions, but it’s this pulsating, all-electric, Cale-
produced original that’s both the best and, today, the best known.
When, in 1977, a different recording of “Roadrunner” was followed into the
U.K. charts by a quixotic instrumental called “Egyptian Reggae,” Richman
briefly joined the mainstream, but this anti-rock, lo-fi artist showed little interest
in remaining a part of it. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
American Girl
Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (1976)
Just as its sound has been co-opted by countless bands over the years, the lyrics
to “American Girl” have invited endless explanations. The most popular myth
spun around the song is that it was written about the real-life suicide of a female
student at University of Florida. Petty dismisses the story outright as urban
legend. The girl is a composite: “a character who yearned for more than life had
dealt her.”
The real inspirations behind the song (cut, appropriately, on July 4,
American Independence Day) are subtler and rather more poetic. That line about
waves crashing on the sea? Petty was living in Encino, California, when he
wrote the song: “I was right by the freeway. And the cars would go by. And I
remember thinking that that sounded like the ocean to me.”
Roger McGuinn of The Byrds quickly picked up on the way that Petty
himself had picked up on The Byrds’ sound, recording his own version of the
song shortly afterward. (On first hearing the song, McGuinn reportedly remarked
to his manager that he didn’t recall writing it.) Likewise, Petty is unperturbed by
the similarity of “American Girl” to The Strokes’ “Last Nite.” As he recently
told Rolling Stone, “The Strokes took ‘American Girl,’ and I saw an interview
with them where they actually admitted it. That made me laugh out loud. I was
like, ‘OK, good for you.’” SH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Paul Stanley, Bob Ezrin Producer | Bob Ezrin Label | Casablanca
Album | Destroyer (1976)
“It’s quintessential Kiss . . .” declared producer Bob Ezrin. “From the sort of
cocky attitude, to the storytelling, to the really balls-out playing.” The explosive
“Detroit Rock City” certainly packs a lot into five minutes. In its original
incarnation, on the album Destroyer, the song opens with a theatrical montage
assembled by Ezrin (who plays the part of a news reporter) and engineer Corky
Stasiak. There’s even a snippet of Kiss’s hit from 1975, “Rock and Roll All
Nite.” Then a rumbling riff, revived from their vintage live number “Acrobat,”
introduces singer Paul Stanley’s lyrical tale—inspired by a fan’s fatal car
accident, en route to see Kiss, in North Carolina in April 1975.
The drama is complemented by Gene Simmons’s Curtis Mayfield–
influenced bass line, Peter Criss’s finest drumming, and Ace Frehley’s
flamenco-inflected guitar solo. The latter was written by Ezrin as “my take on
gladiator music.” “We thought he was on crack when he suggested it,” Simmons
admitted. Ezrin also doubled the song’s power chords with a piano—an idea that
reached fruition when Kiss played it with a symphony orchestra in 2003.
“Detroit Rock City” flopped as a single—its B-side, “Beth,” hit the chart
instead—but became a perennial live favorite. It even bequeathed its title to a
1999 movie, for which the original lineup re-recorded the song. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
By the time Candi Staton came to record “Young Hearts Run Free,” she was
already a seasoned performer, having garnered Grammy nominations for her
highly emotional versions of “Stand by Your Man” and “In the Ghetto.”
Written by her producer, Dave Crawford (whose lyrics were inspired by
Staton’s tales of her marriage to promoter Tyrone Davis), and recorded in Los
Angeles, “Young Hearts Run Free” is an almost perfect minidrama. Such a
lonely, desperate song has never been dressed up so sweetly. From the ebullient
horn introduction onward, its real meaning was frequently missed while being
sashayed to on a million dance floors.
“Young Hearts Run Free” is a straightforward plea for women’s rights. It is
about the desperation of a loveless marriage and a woman trapped by the actions
of an artless, philandering man. Although the song is a call for feminism, the
protagonist is not strong enough to escape her “duty.” But she implores others,
most probably her children, not to get themselves into her situation. It is the hope
offered by the song that makes it so powerful.
The record (a U.K. No. 2 for Staton) has enjoyed its fair share of covers over
the years, but possibly the most poignant is by British folk singer Nancy
Wallace. She locates the record’s pain, and by stripping it of its disco frippery
she makes it clear what a remarkable song it is. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Max Romeo, Lee “Scratch” Perry Producer | Lee “Scratch” Perry
Label | Island
Album | War ina Babylon (1976)
When roots, the spiritual strain of reggae, took off in the mid-Seventies, Max
Romeo teamed up with maverick producer Lee “Scratch” Perry to cut some of
his finest sincere, gospel-based work, songs brimming with Old Testament blood
and fire.
“Chase the Devil,” with its first line taken from Isaiah 14:12, casts Romeo as
the Archangel Michael, wearing a shirt of iron and driving out Satan. Perry had
originally wanted the lyric to be about stringing up the Prince of Darkness,
slitting his throat, and setting him on fire, but Romeo, the voice of clemency,
persuaded him that it was sufficient to “send him to outer space / To find another
race.” (This not-in-my-backyard couplet went on to become the basis of The
Prodigy’s frenetic rave workout “Out of Space” in 1992.) The recording
techniques that Perry used were idiosyncratic—to enhance the sound, he might
blow marijuana smoke over the master tapes as they rolled, or bury them in the
soil—and the strangeness of the springy backing track reflects his offbeat
methods. The Upsetters, Scratch’s house band, provide an accomplished rhythm
in his favored “one-drop” style—the bass and kick drum hypnotically
emphasized on the third beat—distinguished by its ribbiting guiro sound and
apocalyptic piano chords. Sparse and unearthly, the sound could almost have
been beamed in from another dimension. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
New Rose
The Damned (1976)
Was punk evolution or revolution? The first line of the genre’s first single (in the
United Kingdom, anyway) seems to provide compelling evidence for the former.
Dave Vanian’s spoken intro to “New Rose”—“Is she really going out with
him?”—immediately establishes a link back to 1964 and “Leader of the Pack”
by The Shangri-Las. Throw in Rockpile’s Nick Lowe as producer and a cover of
The Beatles’ “Help!” on the B-side, and punk’s position as a musical Year Zero
looks less than watertight.
Where many of their contemporaries had one eye on a place in posterity, The
Damned lived in the moment. Brian James, who wrote “New Rose” in fifteen
minutes flat in his northwest London abode, saw Rat Scabies as “a lunatic in the
Keith Moon tradition. [He] drummed like no one else I’d ever played with.” The
adrenaline surge of Scabies’s thunderous opening assault never abates for the
track’s breathless duration. No surprise, then, that bassist Captain Sensible said
that it was recorded “purely on cider and speed,” with Lowe on hand to direct
the band to play everything very loud.
Released as a single in October 1976, “New Rose” failed to trouble the U.K.
Top Forty, but where the Pistols chose to introduce themselves in relatively
obvious terms with “Anarchy in the U.K.,” released scant weeks afterwards, it
was left to The Damned to remind everyone that there was still room for fun
amid the po-faced posturing. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In the year following their first gig, in November 1975, the Sex Pistols caused
constant havoc, starting fights with audience members and getting themselves
banned from various venues throughout London. Despite the controversies, or
perhaps because of them, EMI signed the Pistols in October 1976, packing them
off to the studio to tape their debut single just two days later.
According to England’s Dreaming, Jon Savage’s peerless punk history, the
first recording of “Anarchy in the U.K.” aimed to capture the chaotic energy of
the band’s live performances; Glen Matlock suggests it was recorded in two
takes. However, when this original version met with a thumbs-down, the group
returned to the studio. This time, they took a more measured approach, creating a
“wall of sound” that provided a heady backdrop for Lydon’s mesmerizing,
vicious vocals.
Rushed out in November 1976, “Anarchy in the U.K.” may only have had a
modest impact were it not for a TV appearance made by the group a few days
after its release. When labelmates Queen dropped out of a slot on ITV’s Today
program, EMI drafted the Sex Pistols in to replace them. Goaded to “say
something outrageous” by disdainful host Bill Grundy, Steve Jones did just that.
Within weeks, Grundy had been suspended and the Pistols had been dropped by
EMI, but suddenly punk had caught the limelight. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Rarely had such an illustrious cast been assembled to work on another artist’s
album as the one that came together for Warren Zevon. The singer-songwriter’s
sophomore release (seven years after his debut) resembled a who’s who of
Seventies celebs, featuring guest appearances by Phil Everly, Stevie Nicks, Don
Henley, and Bonnie Raitt, to name but a few. To top it off, it was produced by
Jackson Browne.
This vote of confidence from L.A.’s A-list was a sign these musicians
understood something that fans would soon discover: Zevon was a singer-
songwriter like no other. He’d illustrate his wicked way with the pen on many of
the album’s eleven tracks, yet the best summation of Zevon’s talent was “Poor
Poor Pitiful Me.” A musical take on Murphy’s Law, “Poor Poor Pitiful Me” told
the story of an incredible run of bad luck. With deadpan delivery, Zevon bitched
about such unfunny topics as a failed suicide attempt and domestic abuse, and
somehow left listeners laughing out loud.
This anthem for the underachiever, while not a hit at the time, proved to be
one of Zevon’s most lasting and pliable compositions. Linda Ronstadt scored a
Top Forty hit in 1978 with a version that tweaked the lyrics to make them fit a
female narrator, while Canada’s SNFU recorded a punk rendition in 1984 and
Terri Clark took the song down a country road in 1996. JiH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Underground
The Upsetters (1976)
Trans-Europe Express
Kraftwerk (1977)
“Gene was at his peak when he was with the guitarist Gallopin’ Cliff
Gallup, sort of pre-1958. After then, forget it.”
Ian Dury, 1998
Ian Dury described his influences as “the Stax and Motown labels and Max
Miller, with a lot of television thrown in,” but often his inspiration was Gene
Vincent. It was after Vincent’s death in 1971 that Dury formed his first band,
Kilburn & The High Roads, and, as well as the music, his stage persona and
sartorial style (especially the black leather gloves) paid homage to his hero.
Dury, crippled by childhood polio, insisted that it was the singer’s style and
voice that first impressed him, and that he only later realized Vincent too wore a
leg brace.
Dury’s tribute song, “Sweet Gene Vincent,” appeared on his first solo album,
New Boots and Panties!!, and was the only track released as a single. The song
features Dury’s characteristically playful and vivid lyrics, with clever references
to Vincent’s own songs, including “Blue Jean Bop,” “Who Slapped John?” and
“Be-Bop-A-Lula”; the song’s co-writer, Chas Jankel, commented that after
Dury’s extensive research on Vincent, the original draft of his lyrics would have
taken fifteen minutes to perform. Alas, lyrics brimming with wordplay and
references to Essex and east London, all delivered in broad Estuary English,
were impenetrable abroad—particularly in the United States—so the album and
even “Sweet Gene Vincent” remained very English successes.
Shortly after New Boots and Panties!!, Dury and his backing band started to
perform as Ian Dury & The Blockheads, and subsequent singles such as “What a
Waste” and “Hit Me with Your Rhythm Stick” gained the band more
international popularity. “Sweet Gene Vincent” also got a new lease on life,
reappearing on several compilation discs and remaining a favorite on their set
list right up to Dury’s death, in 2000. MW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
By This River
Brian Eno (1977)
“By This River,” the centerpiece on Side Two of Brian Eno’s final solo
mainstream “pop” album of the Seventies, is a beautiful, minimalist piece for
piano and vocal inspired by collaborative sessions with Cluster’s electronic
experimentalists Roedelius and Moebius. An aquatic theme runs through much
of Eno’s work, and “By This River” is a gentle, almost lullaby-like, piece, the
pared-down track combining piano and up-close vocal refrain with the
minimalism of Eno’s ambient recordings. The gently melodic, atmospheric piece
nestles exquisitely between the mesmerizing “Julie with . . .” and the haunting
“Through Hollow Lands.”
The album, divided on vinyl between an “art rock” side and a serene,
melancholic, reflective side, was the result of protracted sessions, as Eno, faced
with an overabundance of ideas that he wished to pursue, strove to complete the
record.
After 1977, and up until 1990’s Wrong Way Up—his collaboration with John
Cale—he would more or less retreat from lead vocals, but “By This River” plays
to Eno’s strengths as a singer. His gentle voice—reserved, intimate, and with a
hint of the forlorn—concludes with a fading multitracked vocal hum of the
song’s piano refrain.
At the Brighton Festival, which he curated in May 2010, Eno gave an
extraordinarily rare live performance of four songs, including “By This River,”
described as his daughter’s favorite. JL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | David Bowie, Iggy Pop Producer | David Bowie Label | RCA
Album | The Idiot (1977)
Recorded during a fruitful musical partnership with David Bowie some three
years after his breakup with The Stooges, Iggy Pop’s “Dum Dum Boys” is a
poignant reflection on that band’s sad demise. The song opens with Iggy
chatting to himself—backed only by finger clicks and sparse electric piano—
about the fate of various ex-Stooges, the dum dum boys of the title. “What
happened to Zeke [Zettner]?” he asks. “He’s dead on Jones, man How about
Dave [Alexander]? OD’d on alcohol Well, what’s Rock [Scott Asheton] doing?
Oh, he’s living with his mother.”
After this blunt epilogue, the band kicks in. Their sound is far removed from
the trademark three-chord chaos of The Stooges, though. The drumbeat is treated
with echo, and guitars are layered with effects and distortion—touches that
would also feature heavily on another 1977 release, Bowie’s “Heroes.”
According to Iggy, Bowie gave him “the concept of the song and he also gave
me the title. . . . Then he added that guitar arpeggio that metal groups love
today.”
Despite his desire to shed old musical skin, Iggy makes it clear that he
misses his dum dum boys with the line “Hey, where are you now when I need
your noise?” He would find them again in 2003, when the surviving Stooges
reunited and hit the road, finally earning the audience and recognition they had
deserved three decades before. TB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Although Com’è profondo il mare (Deep Is the Sea) was Lucio Dalla’s tenth
album, it was the first for which he supplied all the music and lyrics. The
eponymous lead-off song of the album carries none of the uncertainty and
naivety of his earlier work. Against a restrained background of deceptively
relaxed, strummed guitar and spare keyboards, and with a seemingly jaunty
whistled introduction, Dalla‘s voice is flexible and expressive as he shares the
profound desperation, pessimism, and negativity that he is feeling.
The song, written while the singer was traveling by boat to the Tremiti
islands in the Adriatic, is a meditation on the human condition in Seventies Italy.
The opening lines set out his musings: “We are, we are many We hide at night
For fear of motorists Of linotypists We are black cats We are pessimists We are
bad thoughts / And we have nothing to eat. . . .” Dalla tells the story of a
desperate people with no purpose and no future, while all the while the
accompaniment resolutely maintains its cheerful-sounding course.
Many of Dalla’s fan base thought both the song and the album to be too
commercially driven and a betrayal of his earlier work. Roberto Roversi, one of
Dalla’s earlier songwriters, said, “He simply wanted to be left alone, singing
about nothing. These are industrial choices, not cultural ones.” The choices were
to gain Dalla many new fans. LSc
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Ghost Rider
Suicide (1977)
Writer | Alan Vega, Martin Rev Producer | Marty Thau, Craig Leon Label |
Red Star
Album | Suicide (1977)
Suicide was the creation of Alan Vega and Martin Rev, sculptor and free-jazz
musician, respectively, who met at the Project of Living Artists, a workshop and
space in New York’s SoHo. Inspired by the raw confrontation of The Stooges
and the Pop Art of Warhol and Lichtenstein, the pair envisaged a confrontational
performance art that stripped rock ‘n’ roll down to its twitching skeleton.
“Ghost Rider,” inspired by the Marvel comic of the same name, is the first
track on Suicide’s self-titled 1977 debut. Teamed with a pounding drum machine
and a one-note rock ‘n’ roll riff punched out by Rev on a Farfisa organ, Vega—
in an Elvis-style tremor, his voice slaked in echo and reverb—relates the story of
a flame-headed stunt motorcyclist who sold his soul to the devil. The lyrics were
not sophisticated: as music journalist Simon Reynolds wrote, they “risked corn
and trusted in the timeless power of cliché.” But Vega’s reliance on pop-cultural
themes gave his lyrics a chilling potency: “Bebebebebebebebe he’s a-screaming
the truth / America, America is killing its youth.”
As a band, Suicide’s influence would far outweigh their sales. Their spirit of
anti-musicianship and city-slicker nihilism was to be echoed across New York’s
early-Eighties no-wave scene, and by the Nineties they were being cited as an
influence by artists including Bruce Springsteen, Depeche Mode, and
Radiohead. LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Orgasm Addict
Buzzcocks (1977)
“We had to escape from London at the time. The song pretty well
sums up the trip.”
Steve Jones, 1992
Peaches
The Stranglers (1977)
There were various ways to get your song banned from the radio in 1977. While
some chose to mock royalty, The Stranglers had the BBC’s knickers in a twist
for very British, seaside-based reasons.
The band’s second single, “Peaches,” is driven by one of the great bass lines,
as simple as it is spectacularly effective. But, until a re-recorded version was
released, it was the lyrics that caused the furor, with the B-side, “Go Buddy Go,”
alone granted airplay. Most of the fuss focused on one word: as front man Hugh
Cornwell relates the scene of women parading past him on the beach, he refers
to what could be a part of the female genitalia—or the French word for a bathing
costume. The latter scenario would be a stretch were it not for the band’s Anglo-
French bassist, Jean-Jacques Burnel, and later Stranglers songs in the same
language (1981’s “La Folie,” for example).
Burnel had the inspiration for the track after a huge PA he owned with
Cornwell was rented by a reggae collective in west London. “I’d never heard
bass so dominant,” said Burnel. “I thought, ‘I’m going to write a song like that,’
and the next day I wrote ‘Peaches.’” “Rap over loutish thug riff,” ran the review
in music paper Sounds, a fine way of describing the band’s first U.K. Top Ten
hit. Over two decades later, “Peaches” was still cool enough to carry the opening
scene of Jonathan Glazer’s sun-basted gangster thriller, Sexy Beast (2000). CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Black Betty
Ram Jam (1977)
Reggae singer Dr. Alimantado had built up a strong reputation in Jamaica in the
early Seventies with a string of Lee “Scratch” Perry–produced singles. But his
only international hit, “Born for a Purpose / Reason for Living,” originated in a
personal disaster. On Boxing Day, 1976, Dr. Alimantado was struck down and
dragged behind a bus while walking home. Thompson believes the incident
occurred because he was sporting dreadlocks, something that was frowned upon
in Jamaica at that time.
The song came to him while he was recovering; reportedly he had to drag
himself on crippled legs across his house to find a pad and pencil to write it
down. It was recorded at legendary studio Channel One, with all the musicians
playing for free to help Alimantado settle his hospital bills.
With its refrain of “If you feel that you have no reason for living, don’t
determine my life,” the track captured the ideals of the U.K. punk scene, mainly
with the help of Johnny Rotten, who played it on his famous one-off radio show
with DJ Tommy Vance in 1977. On the show, he described how the song helped
him after he was badly beaten up in London: “Just after I got my brains kicked
out, I went home and I played it.”
An icon for British punks, Dr. Alimantado was name-checked by The Clash
on their London Calling track “Rudie Can’t Fail” with the line “Like the doctor
who was born for a purpose.” DC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Zombie
Fela Kuti & Africa 70 (1977)
With its “bitches brew” of biting sociopolitical critique and polyrhythmic funk,
“Zombie” is neatly emblematic of Fela Kuti’s Afrobeat. The centerpiece and title
track of the pioneering Nigerian saxophonist’s 1977 album, it features Kuti at his
most outspoken, railing against social injustice in a twelve-minute big-band
march.
Over Africa 70’s frantic staccato jazz horn stabs and nagging riffs, and
drummer Tony Allen’s lithe-limbed propulsive rhythms, Kuti and his backup
singers ridicule the Nigerian military. “Attention! Quick march! Slow march!
Salute!” Kuti chants in his trademark broken pidgin English. “Fall in! Fall out!
Fall down! Go and kill! Go and die! Go and quench!” Each phrase is followed
by the female backing singers’ taunting response: “Zombie!”
For the army, such satire was a direct attack, exacerbated by the fact that in
the song alpha males are being made to look foolish, in part by women. The
backlash was unprecedented. Fela was severely beaten and his elderly mother
murdered. His shrine and self-declared liberated zone, the Kalakuta Republic
commune, was set on fire, and his studio was destroyed.
But if the military thought they could silence him, they were wrong.
“Zombie” quickly became a rallying cry across the continent, playing its part in
riots in Ghana and cementing Kuti’s belief in individual liberation through
music. MK
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Wuthering Heights
Kate Bush (1977)
“I was sixteen. . . . By the magic of God, it got on the radio, and I just
about died.”
k.d. lang, 1997
As startling as punk, “Wuthering Heights” emerged in the same year as the Sex
Pistols’ “God Save the Queen.” And although Kate Bush and Johnny Rotten
became friends and mutual admirers, they seemed at odds: he an urchin who
scrawled “I hate” on a Pink Floyd shirt; she a hippy nurtured by Floyd’s Dave
Gilmour. In their iconic songs of 1977, he attacked a British institution; she
celebrated a literary classic.
Bush shares a birthday with Wuthering Heights author Emily Brontë (July
30), but the book was not a favorite: “I didn’t read it until just before I wrote the
song. I’d seen the television series years ago. . . . I knew there was Heathcliff
and Cathy and that she died and came back. It just fascinated me.”
The song’s most distinctive feature is its vocal. “I tried to project myself into
the role of the book heroine,” Bush recalled, “and, because she is a ghost, I gave
her a high-pitched wailing voice.” In the spare U.K. video, Kate flutters before
the camera as she sings the chorus: “Heathcliff, it’s me, Cathy, I’ve come home /
I’m so cold, let me in-a-your window.” Having fought EMI’s conviction that the
more traditional “James and the Cold Gun” should be her debut, Bush became—
aged nineteen—the first British female to top the chart with a self-composed
song.
The singer later admitted, “It was a bit misleading; it seemed to suggest too
much fantasy and escapism.” Nonetheless, the song remained her best known,
and she re-recorded it for a 1986 greatest hits set, The Whole Story—“I wanted
to put a contemporary mark on it. . . . It sounded like a very little girl singing that
to me.” Such longevity suits what Bush called “the ultimate love story . . . a love
affair that goes beyond death.” BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
I Feel Love
Donna Summer (1977)
Peg
Steely Dan (1977)
Writer | Walter Becker, Donald Fagen Producer | Gary Katz Label | ABC
Album | Aja (1977)
By 1977’s Aja, Steely Dan had honed an already smooth sound into an
impossibly polished jazz-pop fusion, not a glitch in its sophisticated armory.
“There wasn’t a single slouch,” Walter Becker said of the players on 1976 set
The Royal Scam, but he and Donald Fagen were even more watchful on the
follow-up, bringing in accomplished jazz guitarists Lee Ritenour and Steve
Khan, yet still trying out half a dozen more for the guitar solo on “Peg.”
Jobbing producer/guitarist Jay Graydon was the man who eventually
provided the lick to satisfy Becker and Fagen, his solo oozing organically from
the groove, no run-up, no seam. Around him, Steely Dan conjure an enchanting
pop song with the catchiest horn section this side of the JB’s and a lyric
suggesting the sleaze of the casting couch—“This is your big debut. . . . So
won’t you smile for the camera / I know I’ll love you better.”
The song manages to get away with its seedy edge through perky refrains,
dance-floor suss, and some glorious harmonies. The latter were boosted in no
small part by ex-Dan keyboardist and now–Doobie Brother Michael McDonald,
presaging his later blue-eyed soul turns.
Of course, “Peg” sounds almost disco, but its funky strut was not left to
fester. In 1989, De La Soul exhumed its perfectly preserved form, snatching bass
line, brass, and vocal sample to bring the bliss to Daisy Age hit “Eye Know.”
MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Marquee Moon
Television (1977)
Television were pioneers of New York punk. And yet their music had little in
common with their punk compatriots. While the Ramones and The
Heartbreakers spewed out three-chord wonders, Television assembled jazz-
inspired epics filled with complex solos and abstract lyrics.
“Marquee Moon,” the ten-minute title track from their 1977 debut, was their
most ambitious construction. The track’s riffs slot together like a jigsaw: a
double-stopped guitar opens on the left channel, then a jangling motif joins in on
the right, and a simple two-note bass line pulls the song together. That
minimalist, entrancing melody provides space for guitarists Tom Verlaine and
Richard Lloyd to throw out sublime, extended solos.
However, for front man Verlaine—who took his surname from the French
symbolist poet—words were more important than riffs. “I probably spent six
times the amount of time on the lyrics than I did on the music back then,” he
explained. Like the song’s sparring guitars, Verlaine’s lyrics are dominated by
dueling concepts (“The kiss of death, the embrace of life”).
The track’s sheer un-punkiness made it a target for many U.S. critics. Britain
had a more open mind—“Marquee Moon” reached No. 30 in the singles charts,
even though the track’s length meant it had to be split between two sides of a
seven-inch single. TB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Like a Hurricane
Neil Young (1977)
In the summer of 1975, with his Tonight’s the Night album just hitting the
shelves and its follow-up, Zuma, prepped for release, Neil Young underwent
surgery to remove nodes that had developed on his vocal cords. While
recuperating afterward, unable to speak and forced to communicate only through
sign language, Young went on the lam with a gaggle of roguish road-crew
compadres to La Honda, a small town in the Santa Cruz mountains, where a high
time was had by all.
Young had separated from his wife Carrie Snodgress a year previously, and
one night, at a La Honda hangout called Venturi’s, he fell under the spell of a
local girl named Gail. Nothing came of it, but the attraction haunted Young and,
some nights later, he sat at the organ, writing what would become his next great
guitar epic. Still unable to sing, he scrawled a couplet chorus, sketching out the
theme of corrosive longing: “You are like a hurricane / There’s calm in yer eye.”
Young took the song to his band, Crazy Horse, soon afterward. After a
couple of false starts, Frank “Poncho” Sampedro put down his rhythm guitar and
manned a nearby Stringman synthesizer, leaving more space for Young to solo.
(His vocals would have to be recorded later.) The song soon became a highlight
of Young’s concert set lists, his plaintive, vulnerable vocals giving way to
evermore excursive, emotive guitar soloing. SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The Passenger
Iggy Pop (1977)
When Iggy Pop and David Bowie ask if you have anything for them as potential
material for the follow-up to The Idiot, it pays to have something impressive in
your locker. In a Berlin flat, prog-rocking session player Ricky Gardiner hit
them with the memorable chords for “The Passenger.”
With all its talk of ripped backsides, “The Passenger” found Iggy letting it all
hang out with an observational tale of late-Seventies excesses, inspired by
journeys he had taken around the German city. But this dark direction had
nothing at all in common with the circumstances in which Gardiner found his
inspiration. On what he called “one idyllic spring morning,” he was wandering,
guitar in hand, “beside the radiant apple blossoms” when he found himself
strumming the irresistible chords. It required just one unplugged rendition,
recorded on a cassette player, to send Iggy scurrying off to write the lyrics
overnight.
Although the song has become what Gardiner admits is “a rock standard,” it
did not display any contemporary commercial clout at the time, being hidden
away as the B-side to “Success,” which did not live up to its name. However, its
presence in movie soundtracks and advertising (one campaign took it to just
outside the U.K. Top Twenty in 1998) has seen it acclaimed after the fact. Cover
versions (from Bauhaus to The Banshees) have served only to emphasize the
original’s brilliance. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Stayin’ Alive
Bee Gees (1977)
In April 1977, the Bee Gees flew to Paris with two tasks in mind—mixing a live
album and working on new material for a follow-up to the best-selling Children
of the World. Residing at the cold and forbidding Château d’Hérouville studios
(recently vacated by David Bowie, who’d just recorded Low there), the group
received a call from their manager, Robert Stigwood. He had bought the rights to
an extended essay by writer Nik Cohn entitled “Tribal Rites of the New Saturday
Night.” Planning to make it into a film, he needed at least four songs from the
group for the project.
One of those four, “Stayin’ Alive,” is fascinating. Worked up by the three
brothers on acoustic guitars and written without reading either the article or the
screenplay, it captures perfectly the struggle for survival in an inner city (“Life
going nowhere, somebody help me”) and the escapism provided by a dance
floor. The rigid drum beat was achieved by using a loop from the already-
recorded “Night Fever.”
Saturday Night Fever—as Cohn’s essay was renamed for the movie—
became one of the highest-grossing movies of all time and made the Bee Gees
reluctant (but well-compensated) figureheads of the disco movement. And a lot
of that success was down to the strength of this song, captured forever over the
opening credits, in which Tony Manero (John Travolta) quickens pulses as he
half-walks, half-dances his way to work.
“Stayin’ Alive” swiftly topped charts worldwide, though after a first rush of
enthusiasm it was soon derided. People mocked the group’s falsettos,
medallions, satin shirts, and hair—but a lot of the cricicism was simple jealousy.
Time has proven just how well written “Stayin’ Alive” is. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Wonderous Stories
Yes (1977)
At a time when punk rock was raising its spiky little head, pomp rockers Yes—
with prodigal keyboards man Rick Wakeman returned to the fold—defied all the
odds and fashioned their best album in years, charting a first U.K. hit single.
Something of a novelty track for an album-orientated prog-rock band,
“Wonderous Stories” was Yes’s pop moment. No less novel than the music was
the bright-blue vinyl 12-inch release put out at the same time as the 7-inch black
single that bagged a No. 7 spot on the U.K. chart. Titled “Wondrous Stories” on
some releases, the track featured a soaring vocal performance by the song’s
author, Jon Anderson.
“Wonderous Stories” was an opportunity for Yes to appeal to a wider
audience. New album Going for the One, from which it was plucked, was less
intellectual and far more approachable than the band’s previous offerings. It
restored Yes to the No. 1 spot in the U.K. album charts and maintained their
popularity in the United States, where it peaked at No. 8. The fantasy worlds of
early Yes prog-rock epics were stripped away, revealing Anderson’s ability to
deliver a catchy pop song in under four minutes.
Clearly spiritual, his lyrics had an almost biblical turn of phrase; making a
journey “bound for my forgiver,” he is directed to “the gate” where his spirit
ascends—apparently—heavenward. Anderson, who is often wrongly described
as a singer using a falsetto technique, had rarely put his alto-tenor Lancastrian
vowels to better use. The song became an FM-radio-friendly staple, although
seasoned Yes fans didn’t fully warm to the joyous-sounding track, preferring, as
did Anderson, Going for the One’s alternative “masterwork,” “Awaken.” DR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“‘Go Your Own Way’ was angry and nasty, and—in my opinion—
extremely disrespectful.”
Stevie Nicks, 2009
The lengthy touring that followed Fleetwood Mac’s eponymous 1975 album—
their first featuring new guitarist/vocalist Lindsey Buckingham and singer Stevie
Nicks—took a heavy toll on the relationships within the band, leading to the
separation of both Buckingham and Nicks, and bassist John McVie and his
keyboardist/singer wife, Christine; drummer Mick Fleetwood’s marriage with
wife Jenny also hit the rocks. A group whose history had been marked by mental
breakdowns and outrageous misfortune, Fleetwood Mac soon devolved into a
soap opera, which fueled their massively successful 1977 album, Rumours.
The first single from Rumours, “Go Your Own Way,” was also the most
rancorous. Buckingham’s song started out as a riff on the Stones’ “Street
Fighting Man,” taut verses bristling into harmony-drenched (but most certainly
unharmonious) choruses that flung his broken relationship with Nicks to the
winds. Nicks had essayed their relationship herself on the more meditative
“Dreams,” hoping their friendship could be recovered from the wreckage, but
“Go Your Own Way” rang with stung indignation, picking over Buckingham’s
broken heart with a spiteful honesty and railing against the girl to whom he had
offered his world and who had rejected him.
Such autobiography would win Fleetwood Mac the greatest success of their
career, but these upheavals—and Nicks’s enduring offense at Buckingham’s
lyrics, cattily claiming that “shacking up is all you want to do”—also ensured
this soap opera would continue. Fleetwood Mac’s greatest lineup ultimately split
when tensions between the duo exploded into a physical fight after sessions for
1987’s Tango in the Night. SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Heroes”
David Bowie (1977)
“It’s really that two-chord special. It was that ‘Waiting for the Man’
thing.”
John Cale, 2008
At twenty-nine, David Bowie was certainly not the first—nor would he be the
last—pop star to flee L.A., exhausted by its excesses. “Life in L.A. had left me
with an overwhelming sense of foreboding,” he said recently. “I had approached
the brink of drug-induced calamity one too many times, and it was essential to
take some kind of positive action.”
After releasing his Young Americans album (which Bowie himself described
as “plastic soul”), he found Berlin a sanctuary. Bowie had long felt an artistic
kinship with Expressionist Berlin (Max Reinhardt and Bertolt Brecht); plus, the
city was cheap (he was broke) and it guaranteed anonymity.
In this most divided city, Bowie would devise the Berlin Trilogy (Low,
“Heroes,” and Lodger) and his most covered song, “Heroes.” While Low was
recorded at the supposedly haunted Château d’Hérouville, “Heroes” was
recorded with Tony Visconti and Brian Eno at Hansa Studio 2, which stood right
next to the heavily guarded Berlin Wall. For all the surrounding bleakness,
however, these were happy sessions, Eno and Bowie frequently “in schoolboy
giggling fits” doing impressions of comic heroes Peter Cooke and Dudley
Moore.
“Heroes” starts as if already halfway through: piano in full roll, saxes hoisted
skyward, Robert Fripp’s driving guitars. The song reaches bursting point at
Bowie’s description of two lovers meeting by the Wall (“The guns shot above
our heads And we kissed As though nothing could fall”). Though it was a secret
at the time, the lovers were in fact Visconti (who was still married) and his new
girlfriend. Bowie remembers, “It was very touching because I could see that
Tony was very much in love with this girl.” To this day, “Heroes” remains a
perfect musical expression of romantic defiance. SH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Exodus
Bob Marley & The Wailers (1977)
It is one of the neatest jokes in Bob Marley’s entire catalog: the piano motif that
appears throughout this song comes from the Oscar-and Grammy-winning theme
to Otto Preminger’s 1960 film Exodus, about the founding of Israel. As a single,
it had been a global smash in the hands of piano duo Ferrante and Teicher, and
clearly the story had resonance in Rasta teachings. This time, however, the
subject is the movement of Jah people, but there is also the small matter of the
singer and his inner circle having to leave home after an assassination attempt
that only just failed. This was more exile than exodus, a two-year period in
London during which he was able to craft an album that took his message further
than ever.
This was the moment Marley became a global superstar; perhaps as a
consequence, his 1977 LP, Exodus, is often labeled as his sell-out, soft-centered,
pop album. Yet the title cut was one of the most intense musical experiences
available in the year punk broke. Much of that comes down to the rhythm track,
the way the Barrett brothers played off each other, with Aston’s bass high in a
busy, psychedelic mix. Over this, Marley takes his place at the head of the long
march to the promised land, no longer simply preaching to sufferahs or reggae
fans or the Back to Africa movement. Now his army consisted of everybody
unhappy with life as it is lived in Babylon. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
River Song
Dennis Wilson (1977)
Unexpectedly, Dennis Wilson was the first Beach Boy to release a solo album.
Yes, he had contributed a handful of memorable songs to the band’s oeuvre, but
he was seen as the surfer, the rock ‘n’ roll heart, the dissolute brother, the friend
of Charles Manson, never the grafter.
Released in 1977 (and reissued with Bambu in 2008), the frazzled, sun-
kissed Pacific Ocean Blue met with a cool critical reception. The album was
treated as an indulgence, heavy on production values and sonic layers, with no
track as guilty as opener “River Song.” Still, one man’s overegged pudding is
another’s stirring epic, and this hymn to nature’s beauty now rightly stands as a
landmark itself, undercutting Dennis’s party-boy image.
Exasperated with the city (“So crowded I can hardly breathe”), “River Song”
also sells the tranquillity of the country, Wilson’s tinkling piano evoking the
wash of the river itself. Here the song is delicate, but Wilson soon piles on
gospel choirs (“Ninety percent of those voices are mine,” he claimed) and rolling
drums, expressing the river’s widening course. In the end, “River Song” is an
exhortation to “run away” and join it, our gravelly singer yearning to ditch the
high life and clean up.
The track had been performed live by The Beach Boys in 1973 but was never
laid down. By 1977, the band had lapsed into nostalgia and retreads; brother
Dennis still had dreams. MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“This chick Rosie lived across the road. She used to check out which
bands were in town. . . . She was too big to say no to.”
Bon Scott, 1979
If you were looking for a song to sum up AC/DC in all their hard-rocking,
sticky-fingered glory, you’d need look no further than “Whole Lotta Rosie.” The
sweaty climax of the Sydney band’s 1977 LP Let There Be Rock, it is the
testament of a real-life encounter singer Bon Scott had with a plus-size lady—
the titular “Rosie,” who might be “weighin’ in at nineteen stone” but has the
enthusiasm and endurance to do it “All through the night time / Right around the
clock.” As Scott reported, “To get out of bed, I had to climb over her, which was
like climbing a mountain.”
It is a subject matter that finds its home in the locker room, and true, if
you’re looking for more cerebral subjects in your rock ’n’ roll, AC/DC may not
be for you. The rest of us, though, can appreciate “Whole Lotta Rosie” for what
it is: a larger-than-life stadium stomp that is silly without being stupid and saucy
without being sleazy.
The band snap from a stop-start beginning into a delirious boogie signposted
with cymbal-smashing breakdowns and astonishing solos from school-uniform-
clad guitarist Angus Young. And while, in these more enlightened times, one
might question Bon Scott’s descriptions of a larger lady (“Ain’t no skin and
bones”), one listen to his larynx-challenging delivery suggests his tribute is
entirely genuine. (Confirming testimony came from Angus in 2000: “Bon had
this fetish about big women. He used to party around with these two girls who
were called the Jumbo Jets.”)
“Whole Lotta Rosie” has since found a special place in AC/DC’s
discography. Along with “Nutbush City Limits,” new vocalist Brian Johnson
performed the song at his audition following the death of Bon Scott in 1980. LP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Blank Generation
Richard Hell & The Voidoids (1977)
“When anything got into the final analysis, I didn’t care. That’s what
that song ‘Blank Generation’ was about.”
Richard Hell, 1996
Influenced by: The Beat Generation • Bob McFadden & Dor (1959)
Influence on: Pretty Vacant • Sex Pistols (1977)
Covered by: Angel Corpus Christi (1989) • The Heartbreakers (1991)
Other key track: Love Comes in Spurts (1977)
Although New York punk hardly begged for sloganeering, few of its missives
seem as patently anthemic as “Blank Generation,” the signature recording by
CBGB writer-howler Richard Hell. The song’s chorus—“I belong to the blank
generation and / I can take it or leave it each time”—lent Hell and his scruffy
fellow-travelers a suitably nihilistic maxim to present to interested parties.
Patterned after the 1959 beatnik spoof “The Beat Generation,” “Blank
Generation” served as the namesake of Richard Hell & The Voidoids’ 1977
debut LP. However, the singer had introduced the song years earlier, during his
uneasy tenure in Television. As recorded by The Voidoids, “Blank Generation”
is wired and neurotic, with Hell’s tense vocals giving way to the anarchic guitar
spurts of Robert Quine. Yet for all its untamed ferocity, the song retains a
jazzlike cadence carried over from the novelty record that inspired it; as with
much early punk, “Blank Generation” is more complex than it lets on.
While it never achieved the ubiquity of some of the Ramones’ hits, “Blank
Generation” resonated beyond CBGB’s walls. In 1980, it was used as the title
and theme of a low-budget film starring Hell as a struggling downtown
musician. The work also found a fan in Malcolm McLaren, who returned from a
New York trip and commanded the Sex Pistols to write their “own version” of
“Blank Generation,” resulting in “Pretty Vacant.” Indeed, it is difficult to
imagine U.K. punk without Hell’s influence. “There was no question that I’d
take it back to London,” McLaren recounted in the oral history book Please Kill
Me. “I was going to imitate it and transform it into something more English.” JR
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
In 1977, the best dose of theatrical overkill available to the music-buying punter
was either Bat Out of Hell or a Queen album—and even Freddie Mercury felt
subtle in comparison with Marvin Aday. Everything was exaggerated in Meat
Loaf’s universe: his operatic singing style, the awe-inspiring album cover, the
wall-of-sound production, and the lyrics of this title track, the LP’s most
memorable cut.
In the grand tradition of two decades of death discs, “Bat Out of Hell” tells
the tale of a doomed, lovelorn teenager who rides his motorbike too fast and
winds up dead. Aday supplied suitably histrionic vocals over Jim Steinman’s
marvelous suite of instrumentation, split into discrete movements for maximum
drama. Guitar solos wail; a nimble-fingered piano riff gives the song’s opening a
genuine boost; and the energetic layers of music add up to so much high-octane
froth that many writers were moved to describe the song as heavy metal. They
were wrong; although the heavy metal of the day did specialize in big, fat,
pompous riffage (see Deep Purple), “Bat Out of Hell” was more akin to a
symphony.
The album went on to become one of the bestselling of all time, thanks to its
fuller-than-full-fat arrangements. But if listening to the whole album daunts, give
the title track a spin and marvel at how much subtlety emerges. JMc See all
songs from the 1970s
1970s
In West Berlin, Iggy Pop and David Bowie lived a life of Weimar decadence,
subsisting on cocaine, red wine, and bratwurst and sitting down once a week to
watch broadcasts of Starsky and Hutch on the Armed Forces Network. Bowie
reworked the station’s signature tune—a staccato Morse-code beep—on the
ukulele to become the barreling riff of “Lust for Life.” The so-called Bewlay
Bros. (Pop, Bowie, and co-producer Colin Thurston) laid down the track in 1977
at Hansa Studios, where Bowie would soon cut his album “Heroes.”
Iggy prowls through his vocals with a feline growl, name-dropping Johnny
Yen, a Venusian gangster from William Burroughs’s 1962 novel The Ticket That
Exploded, from which he also lifted the sentiment that love was “like
hypnotizing chickens.” Drummer Hunt Sales and his bassist brother Tony (the
future Tin Machine rhythm section, no less) provide the song’s percussive drive
—memorably exploited to score the opening sequence of Trainspotting in 1996.
The film connection propelled a reissued “Lust for Life” to the dizzying
heights of No. 26 in the U.K. charts, and in the process laid the groundwork for
various revisionist takes on its riff, notably The Strokes’ “Last Nite” and “Are
You Gonna Be My Girl” by antipodean rockers Jet. But Iggy’s vivacious
swagger is timeless—neither of the past nor of the future. He’s just a modern
guy. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Non-Alignment Pact
Pere Ubu (1978)
Writer | Pere Ubu Producer | Ken Hamann, Pere Ubu Label | Blank
Album | The Modern Dance (1978)
Taking their name from a character in Alfred Jarry’s surrealist play Ubu Roi,
Pere Ubu were formed in 1975 by local music journalists David Thomas (aka
Crocus Behemoth) and the late Peter Laughner in Cleveland, Ohio, from the
ashes of the Stooges-inspired protopunk band Rocket from the Tombs. At the
time, Cleveland was in major decline, but the group’s relative isolation allowed
them to develop a unique “avant-garage” mixture of abrasive synthesizers,
hypnotic bass lines, and Thomas’s apocalyptic howling.
After a handful of single releases on their own Hearthan label, including the
harrowing “30 Seconds over Tokyo,” Pere Ubu unleashed their debut long-
player, The Modern Dance, after signing to Mercury Records offshoot Blank.
“Non-Alignment Pact,” the opening track of this uncompromising album of
garage-punk pranks and musique concrète sound collages, begins with thirty
seconds of high-pitched synth squeal and feedback before exploding as a high-
energized rockabilly sprawl, with energetic and explosive verses and a shout-
along refrain. The whole mess is interspersed with a nihilistic instrument
breakdown before rising up with more garage noise and heavyweight riffs. “We
were making popular music. That’s why we did singles,” David Thomas once
insisted. “Whether people liked it or not was not our problem.” CS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Blue Valentines
Tom Waits (1978)
Although he emerged in the early Seventies at the same time as a host of other
California singer-songwriters, it soon became clear that Tom Waits was
channeling a different sort of muse. His beatnik ethos was an admitted homage
to heroes such as Jack Kerouac and Ken Nordine, though his spin on it was
something wholly original.
While his songs had worn their hearts on their sleeves from the start, Waits’s
penchant for bent romance reached its apotheosis on his fifth album, Blue
Valentine. Each successive tale of tragic romance on the disc pulls the listener
deeper into beatific heartbreak. From the lush orchestration that supports a
growled cover of “Somewhere” from West Side Story, on through the finger-
snapping lilt of “Romeo Is Bleeding,” Waits masterfully conjures the spirit of
star-crossed love as experienced on Skid Row.
But it is “Blue Valentines,” the album’s final track, that seals the deal. The
spare jazz guitar of Ray Crawford—well known from his work with organist
Jimmy Smith—frames the singer’s tale of love gone terribly wrong, lamenting
his role as the “burglar that can break the rose’s neck.” Produced by Bones
Howe (who had worked with Elvis Presley before establishing the classic
sunshine-pop sound of bands such as The Association), “Blue Valentines” is a
masterpiece of both tasteful restraint and unabashed sentimentalism. TS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Heart of Glass
Blondie (1978)
“We didn’t expect the song to be that big. We did it as a novelty item
to put more diversity into the album.”
Chris Stein, 1979
Toward the tail end of the Seventies, a new-wave band who regularly performed
at New York punk mecca CBGB committed heresy. To put the matter bluntly,
they released a disco record.
The band was Blondie and the record was “Heart of Glass.” Although writers
Debbie Harry and Chris Stein were big on the disco scene, not all the band
members were happy with the new direction: bassist Nigel Harrison infamously
called it a “compromise with commerciality.” Stein and Harry originally wrote
the song in pre-Blondie days and cut it as a shuffling, disco-tinged demo with
the title “Once I Had a Love” in 1975. After featuring it on their tours, they re-
recorded the song in 1978, again with the original title. When the band came to
record their third album, Parallel Lines, with hotshot new producer Mike
Chapman, he saw that the track, now more of a rock number, had potential, but
he felt it was not radio-friendly.
Then Harry suggested, “Well, maybe it could be like a Donna Summer
thing.” She, Chapman, and Stein became fired up by the idea, but the rest of the
band were incredulous. Matters weren’t helped by a frustrating studio session.
“It was all done the slow way,” Harry was to comment. “We had to practically
record each beat by hand.”
No one had much confidence in the track—Chapman stuck it in the middle
of Parallel Lines’ B-side—so when it was released as the third single from the
album, it surprised them all by becoming No. 1 in the U.K. and U.S. charts.
There was an immediate backlash from rock artists—drummer Clem Burke
recalls, “Our peers labeled us as disco sellouts”—but “Heart of Glass” sealed
Blondie’s reputation as pop pioneers and set the template for all rockers wanting
to flirt with dance music. DC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“I did have a certain person in mind, but I’ll save that for my kiss ’n’
tell. The music just seemed to follow, fully formed.”
Pete Shelley, 2006
“I’d fall in love with somebody and then instantly wonder why they hadn’t fallen
in love with me. I’d start getting possessive and jealous long before they knew of
my existence. It was bad for my mental metabolism.” It is easy to forget how
music that can elicit such pleasure in the listener can have come from such a
painful place for the composer—in this instance, Pete Shelley.
But Shelley’s emotional angst found a creative outlet in what became the
greatest in a long line of bittersweet Buzzcocks classics. The song took shape in
the uninspiring surroundings of an Edinburgh guesthouse, where Shelley’s ear
was caught by a line from the 1955 Brando and Sinatra musical Guys and Dolls,
which was playing on the TV. The lacerating, lovelorn lyrics poured out the
following day (though the lack of airplay afforded to “Orgasm Addict” the
previous year led Shelley to change “piss on” to the more radio-acceptable
“spurn” in the song’s first line).
During this prolific period, which saw the release of the first two Buzzcocks
albums separated by just seven months in 1978, Shelley’s unfailing ability to tap
into the common romantic consciousness resulted in the single becoming the
band’s biggest hit in the United Kingdom, reaching No. 12. “The reason some of
them have been so popular,” he explained, “is that things which have been going
on inside my head have been going on inside lots of other people’s heads.
Therefore, they get the same ideas that I do, the same confusion and the same
doubts and fears.”
In 2005, a cover of the song starring numerous rock alumni, including
Shelley, was released as a charity tribute single to the late DJ John Peel, with the
proceeds going to Amnesty International. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Le Freak
Chic (1978)
“Le Freak” was the biggest hit of the greatest group that the disco phenomenon
ever produced: Chic. Although the band’s core members—Bernard Edwards on
bass, Nile Rodgers on guitar, and Tony Thompson on drums—had previously
played in a variety of New York club outfits, they seemed to appear out of
nowhere in 1977, fully equipped with their debut single, “Dance, Dance, Dance
(Yowsah, Yowsah, Yowsah).”
Rodgers and Edwards quickly proved to be prodigious writers and producers
and, on New Year’s Eve, 1977, they were invited to meet Grace Jones at
Manhattan’s infamous Studio 54 with a view to producing her. Unfortunately,
they fell foul of the venue’s notorious door policy and were cast out into the
snowy night. Retreating to Rodgers’s nearby apartment, and fueled by
champagne, marijuana, and cocaine, the duo began to jam. After repeatedly
singing the phrase “Ah, fuck off!”—inspired by their ill treatment earlier—they
gradually metamorphosed the line into “freak out.” One of the most popular
songs of the disco era was born, a record that conflates America’s golden age of
dance, in the shape of the Savoy ballroom, with Studio 54 itself, while
celebrating an underground dance.
Everything here is in correct, infectious measure. The gnawing guitar and
syncopated hand claps, the chorus vocal, and then that breakdown, its six-note
bass riff and the drama of the Chic choir (at this point, David Lasley, Luther
Vandross, Luci Martin, Diva Gray, and Alfa Anderson) piping up with the
simple, repeated refrain: “I say freak.”
“Le Freak” sold a million copies in the United States alone. It became one of
the best-selling singles in Atlantic’s history. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“You don’t have to be a musician to play rock and roll. You’ve just
got to love it and want to play it.”
Lee Brilleaux, 1976
Influenced by: One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer • John Lee
Hooker (1974)
Influence on: Three Times Enough • Nine Below Zero (1981)
Covered by: Jimmy Keith & His Shocky Horrors (1995)
Other key track: She Does It Right (1975)
Dr. Feelgood were key precursors to punk in the United Kingdom. Hailing from
Canvey Island, an unloved lump of land in the Thames estuary, they created a
fierce R&B sound in the mid-Seventies, a time when others were content to sail
around their Topographic Oceans.
“Milk and Alcohol” is from the band’s second album, Private Practice, with
guitarist John “Gypie” Mayo. The riff had been written by Mayo and then played
to friend and sometime Feelgood producer Nick Lowe, who recalled a night in
1976 when he and the band had witnessed a desultory John Lee Hooker gig at
the Starwood Hotel in Los Angeles. Disgruntled at their hero’s lackluster
performance and fueled by White Russian cocktails (vodka, Kahlua, and milk),
the band set off for their accommodation and drove through a red light. Pulled
over by the LAPD, manager Chris Fenwick took the rap for the quantity of hash
found in the car’s glove compartment; in the song, this is altered to “They got
me on milk and alcohol.”
“Milk and Alcohol” was produced by Richard Gottehrer, who in the Sixties
had been in the U.S. garage band The Strangeloves; he had recently produced
Richard Hell and Blondie. His all-faders-blazing approach gives the song’s
military beat a zing, but it is the vocal performance of Lee Brilleaux, a man
whose 1994 New York Times obituary praised his “sweat-spattered, eye-bulging,
finger-wagging performances” that clinches it, the malevolent growl of a weary
commentator.
The single—the band’s tenth—was released in a choice of brown-or white-
colored vinyl and reached the U.K. Top Ten in early 1979. Dr. Feelgood may
have cut better songs, but this is the one that remains burned in the memory. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“It’s a work of genius. You will see, in any wedding, party, hen night
or celebration, the effect this track has when it comes on.”
Brian May, 2009
Freddie Mercury, Queen’s extravagant front man, was often happiest hiding
behind a role in his songs, as on the operatic melodrama of “Bohemian
Rhapsody”; his lyrics rarely told us much about the man who wrote them. But
both the words and the surging, giddy celebratory spirit of “Don’t Stop Me
Now” came straight from Mercury’s heart, and captured this legendary libertine
in all his glory.
The track was recorded in Nice in July 1978, during the earliest sessions for
Queen’s seventh album, Jazz (the group would later decamp to Mountain
Studios in Montreux, which they subsequently purchased). For all the song’s
impressive bombast, the arrangement is relatively sparse by Queen’s standards:
aside from a gloriously triumphant Brian May solo before the final chorus, it is
simply bass, drums, and piano.
But this proves the perfect background for Mercury’s vocal tour de force, his
ecstatic lead backed by the trademark Queen choir of harmonies egging Freddie
along as the legendarily omnivorous singer celebrates his appetite for hedonism
with typical camp: he’s a “sex machine ready to reload,” “a racing car passing
by like Lady Godiva.” This was, undoubtedly, the ideal soundtrack for the
infamously debauched soirée the group held in New Orleans later that year to
celebrate the release of Jazz.
Reaching No. 9 in the U.K. singles charts, “Don’t Stop Me Now” was one of
Queen’s lesser hits, but it has recently enjoyed a resurgence of popularity:
director Edgar Wright used the song brilliantly in his 2004 zombie-comedy
Shaun of the Dead, while viewers of U.K. TV’s Top Gear voted it the Greatest
Driving Song a year later, recasting the tune as a joyrider’s anthem. SC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Teenage Kicks
The Undertones (1978)
It is a song that will forever be associated with John Peel, but he wasn’t the only
Radio 1 DJ who brought The Undertones’ debut to the British public’s attention.
While Peel had songwriter John O’Neill “in shock” when he played it twice in a
row on his eclectic evening show, Peter Powell gave it further exposure after
Peel left him a note to say, “This is the one.”
Not that the band necessarily agreed. The Undertones had more of a punk
agenda than has often been credited. O’Neill’s cohorts didn’t want to record the
song (preferring “True Confessions”). “If anything reeked of commercialism or
anything obvious, we’d do the reverse of that,” he said. The song actually failed
to make the cut on the original release of their self-titled album.
Nevertheless, as the title track of the four-song EP on Belfast’s Good
Vibrations label, it helped them to get a deal with Sire. “We were just the right
age at the right time. It’s the strength of the voice and the urgency of the drums
and guitars. It seemed to capture the moment,” O’Neill later commented. But
even Peel and Powell’s high-profile championing couldn’t push a re-release any
higher than No. 31 in the U.K. charts.
At Peel’s request, the song that so perfectly sums up youthful yearning was
played at his funeral, and the line “Teenage dreams so hard to beat” features on
his headstone. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Born in Los Angeles, Sylvester James was a successful gospel singer as a child,
but fled a repressive home life and as a teenager lived on the streets. In 1967, he
moved to the gay ghetto of San Francisco, where he came spectacularly to life.
Performing briefly in a musical, he then joined drag group The Cockettes,
apparently contributing a repertoire of Bessie Smith blues songs, before
launching his solo career as a soul and rock singer.
So far, so average for a new gay boy in town, but in 1977 he signed with
Fantasy Records and began to work with renowned Motown producer Harvey
Fuqua. The special added ingredient to this combination was provided by
synthesizer player Patrick Cowley, who transformed a rough demo of one
particular track. Cowley’s insistent synthesizer beat pushed Sylvester right onto
the dance floor.
That track was the six-and-a-half-minute “You Make Me Feel (Mighty
Real),” an inspired tour de force, its fast, bass-heavy beat and insistent
synthesizer swooshes supporting Sylvester’s exuberant falsetto vocals in a life-
affirming anthem for hedonism. More than any Donna Summer or Gloria
Gaynor track, this was the soundtrack of gay liberation traced out on the dance
floor, sung by an out-and-proud gay man—often appearing in full drag—barely
a decade after the Stonewall riots in New York heralded the birth of a new
liberation movement. SA See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Human Fly
The Cramps (1978)
Writer | Poison Ivy Rorschach, Lux Interior Producer | Alex Chilton Label |
Vengeance
Album | N/A
Writer | Michael Jackson, Randy Jackson Producer | The Jacksons Label | Epic
Album | Destiny (1978)
The Jackson 5’s Motown recording contract expired in 1975, leaving the
brothers to consider their options. Suspecting under-promotion of recent
material, they decamped to Epic, leaving Jermaine—who was wedded to Berry
Gordy’s daughter, Hazel—to remain with Motown as a solo artist. Changing
their name to The Jacksons under legal pressure, the band enjoyed initial
success, but after two albums a rethink was on the cards.
For 1978’s Destiny, the brothers themselves took control, laying down a
belated marker in the disco dirt. They took sole production credits, and Michael
began to show his songwriting chops, teaming up with Randy to pen this dance-
floor stormer that, following on from their cover of Michael’s “Blame It on the
Boogie,” established The Jacksons anew on the club scene. An almost instant
blossoming of the now-grown star’s talent, “Shake Your Body (Down to the
Ground)” would also prove the prototype for Michael’s 1979 solo classic “Don’t
Stop ’til You Get Enough,” both driven by skipping bass to futuristic funk
thrills.
Arranged by Greg Phillinganes, a version of “Shake Your Body (Down to
the Ground)” reached the Billboard Top Ten. Its influence spread beyond
Michael’s solo material to Rockers Revenge’s 1982 electro rework of Eddy
Grant’s “Walking on Sunshine” and, later, to reggae-crossover artist Shaggy’s
2000 hit “Dance and Shout.” MH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“‘Ha, bloody ha,’ said the first taxi driver that I asked to take me
there after the record came out.”
Elvis Costello, 1989
On the cover of his second album, This Year’s Model, Elvis Costello poses with
a Hasselblad like David Hemmings in Blow-Up, Michelangelo Antonioni’s
snapshot of Swinging London. Is it homage or sneering parody? Whatever the
case, the image is suitably ambiguous for an LP on which Elvis & The
Attractions adopt the tight beat-group stylings (and tighter suits) of their mod
forebears, while at the same time deriding those among their peers who insist on
living in the past.
The album’s leadoff single alludes to the plot of Blow-Up in its references to
photography and murder, but it is also a rancorous attack on the self-absorbed
fashion set of the King’s Road. “There’s no place here for the miniskirt waddle,”
jeers Costello, indicating that things had moved on since ’66, while taking a
sideswipe at the trendy crowd sucked into the area by Malcolm McLaren and
Vivienne Westwood’s punk boutique, Sex.
“Chelsea” was only the second vinyl outing for Costello with The
Attractions (his previous backing group, Clover, would go on to become Huey
Lewis’s News), and on the song, the new-wave recruits compete to outperform
one another. Pete Thomas leads off with a virtuoso drum solo, jousting with the
clamorous fuzz-bass of his namesake Bruce, while Steve Nieve chimes in with
his circling Vox Continental organ. The band’s input radically reshaped the song
—while Costello’s spidery lead guitar had started off as an approximation of The
Who’s “I Can’t Explain,” it was rejigged to emulate rock-steady trio The
Pioneers. Ironically, given this influence from the West Indies, the song was
dropped from This Year’s Model in the United States for purportedly sounding
“too English.” SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“Funk is like, who gives a funk? If you feel like dancing, funk it. Funk
gives you that attitude that everything’s all right.”
George Clinton, 1999
Das Model
Kraftwerk (1978)
“It’s about the context of an object, paying money: for beauty we will
pay. I think the cynicism is obvious, don’t you?”
Ralf Hütter, 2009
“If you take my lack of confidence and you take my pride—well, there
you really are shot by both sides.”
Howard Devoto, 2000
Influenced by: Search and Destroy • Iggy & The Stooges (1973)
Influence on: Just • Radiohead (1995)
Covered by: No Fun at All (1997) • Mansun (2004) • Radiohead
(2007) • Jarvis Cocker (2007)
Other key track: My Mind Ain’t So Open (1978)
If you wonder why there was a parting of the ways between Buzzcocks and
Howard Devoto after the release of the Spiral Scratch EP, you could do worse
than sample the two respective camps’ treatment of Pete Shelley’s awesome
ascending guitar riff. Buzzcocks came up with “Lipstick,” which related the end
of a relationship—a subject that provided rich and regular material for the band.
Devoto’s new outfit, Magazine, fashioned a much darker and more sinister
affair. “I was shocked to find what was allowed / I didn’t lose myself in the
crowd,” sings Devoto, a line born of disillusion with the lack of individuality on
the punk scene. That thought is part of—no question, no quibbles—one of the
best debut singles ever.
The memorable phrase that gave the song its title came up during a
conversation. “I was totally apolitical,” said Devoto. “A socialist friend said to
me, ‘You’ll end up getting shot by both sides.’” The words stuck with Devoto,
and he filed them away until the right musical outlet presented itself. With guitar
genius John McGeoch creating the chest-tightening tension, Devoto is “Shot by
both sides / On the run to the outside of everything.”
Critic Paul Morley welcomed the critical outlook of the single in fulsome
terms: “Hero, you come at last.” Like most of Magazine’s output, the song was
massively underappreciated at the time, but has been hugely influential since.
Radiohead, major Magazine fans, are just one of the bands to have covered it
live. As a calling card for Magazine, though, it failed, limping no further than
No. 41 in the U.K. singles chart in early 1978. The uncomfortable thought that
Devoto was casting pearls before swine comes to mind. What were we all
thinking of? CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Public Image
Public Image Ltd (1978)
“The PiL album, especially the single, had the immediacy of hardcore
and punk, but a more sinister, artful edge.”
Mattie Safer, The Rapture, 2007
There was little in 1978 that John Lydon wouldn’t do to avoid being
pigeonholed as a Sex Pistol. The name Johnny Rotten had already been ditched,
but also in his sights was a musical makeover. When asked about his new
direction, he said he was setting up an Irish-Cajun-disco-Afro rock band. With
Moog synthesizers.
Clearly, it was difficult to know what to expect from Public Image Ltd. But it
was obvious what it wasn’t going to be. “The first thing I wanted was to not
sound the same as the Pistols,” said Lydon. “After twenty minutes in a rehearsal
room, we knew damn well we weren’t going to.”
“Public Image” had been written during the Pistols period, but the sound was
far removed from anything they had achieved. For the ominous intro, it helped
enormously having a bassist—Jah Wobble—with a genuine aptitude for the
instrument, while Keith Levene’s spiky guitars were a relief after the relentless
metal of Steve Jones.
Lydon took the title from Muriel Spark’s 1968 Booker Prize–nominated The
Public Image, a slim novel about, as Lydon observed, “what can happen to you
if you don’t control your public image.” In the song, Lydon protested, “I’m not
the same as when I began / I will not be treated as property.” Wobble admitted,
“It set his world to rights. He was full of righteous indignation.” And should
anyone fail to get the message concerning media manipulation, the point was
hammered home by the single’s sleeve, produced in the style of a tabloid
newspaper.
A Top Ten hit in the United Kingdom showed that there was indeed life after
Malcolm McLaren. Said Lydon proudly: “I can look at myself and go: ‘My God,
you did that? Not bad, boy.’” CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Alternative Ulster
Stiff Little Fingers (1978)
Recalling his state of mind while growing up in Northern Ireland during the
period known as “The Troubles,” Stiff Little Fingers’ front man Jake Burns
stated in 2002: “There’s got to be more to life than waking up scared and going
to bed scared.” Taking to the streets to participate in peaceful protests against
violence would only, he admitted with bitter irony, have resulted in a beating.
That left music as one of the few platforms for protest—and Stiff Little Fingers
(with journalist Gordon Ogilvie’s lyrical input) certainly made use of it.
As the Guardian put it in 2003, “Alternative Ulster” found the band relating
“the foul brew of brutality and boredom that characterized their experience of
their home town.” “It was a song written in the classic punk mode about having
nothing to do,” said Burns. “That was the overriding reality of life in Belfast for
a teenager in the mid-Seventies: . . . the sheer tedium of having nowhere to go.”
With Eddie & The Hot Rods’ Ed Hollis as producer, “Alternative Ulster”
was not as rough, but just as ready, as Stiff Little Fingers’ debut 45, “Suspect
Device.” Although “Alternative Ulster” had originally been intended as a free
flexi-disc for a local fanzine of the same name, it ended up as a commercial
release that gave the Rough Trade label a flying start, selling around 35,000
copies. Recommending the abandonment of any reliance on the R.U.C. and
I.R.A., it also reminded the metrocentric punk movement that major events
actually did happen outside London. Burns told Sounds in 1980: “I get fans
asking me just what my alternative Ulster would be. They think I’m advocating a
new state or something. But it’s a personal alternative.” CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“This was one of the greatest bands of all time coming into their
own.”
The Edge, 2006
Ambition
Subway Sect (1978)
Writer | Vic Godard Producer | Mickey Foote Label | Rough Trade Album |
N/A
Subway Sect proved to be one of the most obscure of the original U.K. punk
bands. The group was originally formed by Vic Godard and Rob Simmons,
residents of Mortlake, west London, at the suggestion of Sex Pistols svengali
Malcolm McLaren, who invited them to perform at the 100 Club Punk Special in
London in September 1976.
Subway Sect’s music and image were in stark contrast to the colorful bluster
of the Pistols. Influenced by the New York Dolls and The Velvet Underground,
their minimal songs featured a Fender Mustang guitar, chosen for its trebly
sound, and Godard’s Americanism-free lyrics.
Under the wing of Clash manager Bernie Rhodes, the publicity-shy group
were to release just two singles and record one John Peel Session in their first
two years of existence. An outtake from an aborted and still unissued album, the
second of these singles was “Ambition,” which Rhodes eventually released after
a plea by Buzzcocks manager Richard Boon, who wanted Subway Sect to open
for his group on their upcoming tour. The song was a blistering piece of power
pop overlaid with Godard’s sarcastic nasal delivery. (Rhodes apparently sped up
the recording in an attempt to make it sound more “punk.”) The track also
features a distinctive trilling synthesizer and—in the background—the sound of
ping-pong balls recorded from an arcade game. CS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
The last of the first wave of punk bands to get a record deal—despite
connections with punk’s inner circle, a fierce live reputation, and an impressive
graffiti campaign by an overzealous fan—Siouxsie & The Banshees were finally
signed by Polydor on the strength of this song after it was broadcast as a John
Peel session on U.K. radio. It had its genesis in a song guitarist John McKay was
working on entitled “People Phobia”; McKay also came up with the distinctive
oriental-sounding introduction, played on an electronic xylophone.
Taking its title from a Chinese takeaway in Siouxsie’s hometown of
Chislehurst, “Hong Kong Garden” was written by her as a tribute to the Chinese
race after she had witnessed skinheads taunting the owners with racist abuse. As
she herself said, “They used to mercilessly torment these people for being
foreigners. It made me feel so helpless, hopeless, and ill.”
Following months of media intrigue and anticipation, this soaring slice of
post-punk euphoria crashed into the U.K. Top Ten yet did not appear on their
debut album, The Scream (it was later included on the CD reissue). However, its
success paved the way for one of the most original and enigmatic bands of the
post-punk era. The song later appeared, with an extended orchestral introduction,
on the soundtrack of Sofia Coppola’s 2006 biopic, Marie Antoinette. CS
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Being Boiled
The Human League (1978)
“I have always been cocky. I thought ‘Being Boiled,’ our first single
in 1978, would go Top Ten.”
Philip Oakey, 1995
Rock Lobster
The B-52’s (1978)
“We just did our own thing, which was a combination of rock ’n’ roll,
and Fellini, and game-show host, and corn . . . .”
Fred Schneider, 1990
Situated 250 miles (400 km) from the Atlantic Ocean, the college town of
Athens, Georgia, is perhaps not the most sensible location to make a beach-party
record—but then The B-52’s were never the most sensible of bands. That much
was clear from their polyester threads and vertiginous beehive wigs, a kitsch
aesthetic that carried over into the wacky scat-style backing vocals, twangy riff
(reminiscent of the John Barry Seven’s 1959 instrumental “Beat Girl”), and
marine-biology-obsessed lyrics of their debut single.
Initially released in May 1978 as a limited-edition pressing of 2,000 copies—
with lead singer Fred Schneider’s workplace, the El Dorado Restaurant, given on
the back as a contact address—“Rock Lobster” was re-recorded with producer
Chris Blackwell for the band’s debut album the following year. This new
version, stretched out to almost seven minutes, places Kate Pierson’s Munsters-
theme Farfisa arabesques in the foreground and finds Schneider on vicious form,
barking out lines such as “Twisting round the fire, having fun” with unwarranted
venom. By the point that he is gleefully enumerating various fish species with
far-fetched vocal effects (“In walked a jelly fish / There goes a dogfish”), Ricky
Wilson’s guitar line has mutated from surf twang into sinister Gang of Four
post-punk.
The song is also credited with enticing John Lennon back into the recording
studio after a five-year hiatus. Hearing “Rock Lobster” in a Bermuda disco, the
former Beatle detected a certain similarity to his wife’s vocal style in Cindy
Wilson’s atonal shriek. “It sounds just like Ono’s music,” he said in 1980, “so I
said to meself, ‘It’s time to get out the old axe and wake the wife up!’” SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Roxanne
The Police (1978)
Writer | Sting
Producer | Stewart Copeland, Sting, Andy Summers
Label | A&M
Album | Outlandos d’Amour (1978)
“It was a total offshoot from what we’d been doing. . . . That was the
turning point for The Police, that and Andy joining.”
Sting, 1978
Influenced by: Soul Rebel • Bob Marley & The Wailers (1970)
Influence on: Who Can It Be Now? • Men at Work (1981)
Covered by: Aswad (1997) • George Michael (1999) • Fall Out Boy
(2005) • Michael Paynter (2008)
At the start of 1978, The Police had no record deal, media support, or money.
They had formed in 1977 and tried to ride the U.K. punk-rock explosion. Yet the
trio comprised a singer who was, until recently, a school teacher; a drummer
who had played with prog-rock ensemble Curved Air; and a guitarist whose CV
stretched back to late-Sixties psychedelic bands.
Aware they appeared too old, and were too musically fluent, to genuinely
embrace the advent of punk as rock’s Year Zero, The Police determined to forge
their own path, bringing elements of jazz and reggae into their sound. “Roxanne”
was written by Sting after the band played a Parisian punk festival in the winter
of 1977. Noting the prostitutes around their hotel, he started thinking of the
song’s refrain while in the hotel lobby, where there was a poster for Cyrano de
Bergerac, the famous play in which the protagonist has a beloved named
Roxanne. The band shaped the song in the studio in 1978, building a subtle
reggae-rock feel around the keen, emotional hook of Sting’s unique vocal.
Impressed by the track, manager Miles Copeland—older brother of drummer
Stewart—won them a record deal.
Released as a single in 1978, “Roxanne” flopped. The band doggedly toured
the United States with Miles Copeland, working the media until U.S. radio
stations cautiously began playing the song. In 1979, “Roxanne” became a minor
U.S. hit, and U.K. radio also began to give the song airtime; soon the media were
wondering who this stylish new band were. With “Roxanne,” The Police went
from being losers in the punk wars to quickly becoming the most successful
band to arise out of the entire punk–new wave explosion. GC
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“After thirty years, you have to be happy you have a song that means
so much to so many people.”
Peter Perrett, 2009
The Only Ones are the one-hit wonders who wonder how they never had a hit,
and this is their masterpiece. “Another Girl, Another Planet” boasts an
unforgettable introduction, wittily drawled lyrics, and an accomplished,
fluttering guitar solo. The song has been referenced by famous fans such as Pete
Doherty and John Peel. It has even been described as “the greatest rock single
ever recorded.” It is, in short, the sort of instant classic that screams No. 1—but
it never charted higher than No. 57 in the United Kingdom.
The song opens with a quietly stuttering guitar line that is joined by sporadic
bass and slowly thumping percussion, rising louder, faster, and higher into a
euphoric swirl until vocalist and songwriter Peter Perrett’s nasal whine breaks
the spell, joining the party with nearly a minute already gone. The first line has
to be arresting: “I always flirt with death / I could kill, but I don’t care about it.”
Perrett was a brilliant lyricist, a skill acquired on the streets of south London and
in British boarding schools. Many of his songs—this one included, albeit
obliquely—reference the drugs that Perrett claims he sold to finance his band’s
first self-produced album and to which he later became destructively addicted.
He went on to work with another talented drug-taker, Johnny Thunders, playing
on “You Can’t Put Your Arms around a Memory,” as The Only Ones staggered
through three occasionally brilliant albums before the inevitable split (and just as
inevitable reunion in 2007). Their keynote song has appeared in commercials
and numerous soundtracks, been covered by Babyshambles, The Replacements,
and Blink-182, and even lent its name to an American film. But it has never been
a hit. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“When you were into reggae you did skanking, slow dancing, and I
could do that to it.”
Poly Styrene, 2008
Of all the many distinctive bands to emerge from British punk, few stood out
like X-Ray Spex. That was largely due to their extraordinary singer, Marian
Elliott (aka Poly Styrene), who was born in Brixton of English and Somali
parents, dressed in colorful clothes, had a shock of unruly hair, wore braces on
her teeth, possessed an incredible voice (she was a trained opera singer), and had
seemingly supernatural confidence for an eighteen-year-old. In appearance,
music, and looks, X-Ray Spex were so far ahead of the curve, they were on a
different graph. Poly sang sardonically about consumerism and an increasingly
disposable lifestyle, but also about femininity, challenging convention with
every song. And those songs were brilliant, belligerent, bouncy punk-pop with a
branded motif—the out-of-tune sax wielded with malicious intent by Rudi
Thomson.
“Germ Free Adolescents” (sometimes “Germ Free Adolescence” on the
label, but we’ll go with the typical spelling) is unique, and thus typical of the
band’s string of sensational singles. The Clash’s “(White Man) In Hammersmith
Palais” is usually said to be the first song to merge punk and reggae, but Poly
might have beaten them to it with this track. It is hypnotic, almost
psychedelically slow, as it copies the dub reggae records that the band danced to
at London punk club The Roxy. The lyrics are about a girl who “cleans her teeth
ten times a day,” obsessed with cleanliness, terrified of germs. The comment is
obvious: it is the ritual purification of daily life that is unnatural, not the dirt.
There is also a faint trace of the melancholy that would later develop into full-
blown depression; citing pressure, Styrene quit the band and became a Hare
Krishna devotee. Unique to the last. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Writer | Edward Van Halen, Alex Van Halen, Michael Anthony, David Lee
Roth
Producer | Ted Templeman
Label | Warner Bros.
Album | Van Halen (1978)
“I think Van Halen is the future of rock ’n’ roll for the United States,
and for the world!”
David Lee Roth, 1978
Deep Purple had petered out, Black Sabbath were sinking, Led Zeppelin were
laying low. Meanwhile, success was eating Kiss and Aerosmith alive. Hard rock
needed a shot in the arm.
Van Halen were that shot—and how. Their debut album was packed with
punches, but the fight was won in the first three and a half minutes: “Runnin’
with the Devil,” among the most superbly swaggering openers ever etched into
vinyl.
Long a feature of their live sets, the song was recorded—albeit in a slightly
faster, funkier form—on a 1977 demo financed by Kiss bassist Gene Simmons.
“I quickly learned that I didn’t like overdubbing,” Eddie Van Halen told Guitar
World. “Gene said, ‘Here’s what you do in the studio—you play your rhythm
parts on one track, and your solo parts on another.’ I remember feeling very
uncomfortable with separating my lead and fill parts from my rhythm parts.
Onstage, I’d gotten used to doing both simultaneously.”
Nonetheless, the version on Van Halen required one of the album’s few
guitar overdubs. Further sonic trickery came into play with its introductory car
horns (also on the 1977 demo, reputedly at Simmons’s suggestion). Those horns,
from the band’s own vehicles, were linked with an automobile battery, and the
result played backward to menacing effect.
The title—inspired by The Ohio Players’ 1974 cut “Runnin’ from the
Devil”—suggested devil worship (hence the song’s appearance in Adam
Sandler’s 2000 movie Little Nicky). The lyrics, however, summarized front man
David Lee Roth’s lone-wolf attitude. “We were not afraid of defying
convention,” he recalled in 1997. Ten million U.S. sales proved that fortune
favored the brave. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Hammond Song
The Roches (1979)
Shortly after disbanding Simon & Garfunkel, Paul Simon quietly signed on to
teach a songwriting course at New York University. Maggie and Terre
(pronounced “Terry”) Roche didn’t study at NYU, but they went there anyway
in the hope of pitching some songs to him in the university lobby. His response
was to invite them to his class.
For all the ambivalence this suggests, Simon’s patronage came in handy. The
singer-songwriter paid for the pair to take music lessons, invited them to sing on
his 1973 album There Goes Rhymin’ Simon, and then, two years later, co-
produced their debut, Seductive Reasoning. The sisters then decided to head
south and hang out with an old friend who had moved to Hammond, Louisiana.
The visit formed the basis of “Hammond Song.”
By the time the song was recorded, The Roches had become a trio,
augmented by kid sister Suzzy (rhymes with “fuzzy”). Shows in New York folk
clubs were noticed by Warner Brothers and by King Crimson guitarist Robert
Fripp, who produced their first record as a three-piece. It seemed an unlikely
combination, but Fripp’s spacious production (in “audio verité,” says the sleeve)
gave the trio the room that their bold, cultured harmonies deserved, and Fripp’s
own out-of-the-ether guitar solos on “Hammond Song” were a perfect fit. As
soloists or as a group, they never made a more affecting record. WF-J
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Heaven
Talking Heads (1979)
Writer | David Byrne, Jerry Harrison Producer | Brian Eno, Talking Heads
Label | Sire
Album | Fear of Music (1979)
“It wasn’t a fucking jolly drinking song for the cadet corps.”
Paul Weller, 2008
London Calling
The Clash (1979)
“By ‘London Calling,’ we’d become grown men and, having traveled,
had become more worldly.”
Paul Simonon, 2004
In the classroom of English first-generation punk, if The Damned were the loons
messing around at the back and scaring the girls with frogs, then the Sex Pistols
were the snot-nosed tearaways disagreeing with everything they were told
because . . . well, just because. That left The Clash as the defiant ones who
reminded everyone—repeatedly, and at high volume—how messed up the world
had become.
The anger that fueled the band through their first two albums was still
present on “London Calling,” but it was now allied to a greater maturity.
Guitarist Mick Jones reflected, nearly twenty-five years after the single reached
No. 11 in the U.K. charts, that “it was Joe [Strummer] that provided the spark
that we needed to put down very specific ideas into song.” On this occasion, the
song made reference to the nuclear scare at Three Mile Island in the United
States, police brutality, drugs, meltdown (both financial and climatic), and
cultural vacuity. If the manifesto of The Clash could sometimes have benefited
from fine-tuning to achieve a sharper focus, presenting such a smorgasbord of
society’s ills here merely added to the oppressive, apocalyptic atmosphere
created by the ominous backing from Jones, bassist Paul Simonon, and drummer
Topper Headon.
The song’s title was a nod toward the British Broadcasting Corporation’s
transmissions in World War II, which often began with “This is London calling.”
By adapting the words to his own ends, Strummer was suggesting that his
warnings deserved our attention. Time may have shown him to be right on the
mark. As Simonon said, The Clash left the songs about “love, kissing, and
having a nice time” to other bands. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Transmission
Joy Division (1979)
“People had been moving around, and they all stopped and listened. .
. . That’s when I realized that was our first great song.”
Peter Hook, 1994
Voulez-Vous
Abba (1979)
“It’s incredibly inspiring when you get to hear a lot of fresh stuff you
like; you get a kick to do something that is just as good.”
Benny Andersson, 1979
The recording sessions for what was to become Abba’s sixth album, Voulez-
Vous, had proved problematic, inasmuch as the group’s busy worldwide touring
schedule was getting in the way of their creative processes. Although the quartet
had recently completed their Polar Studios in Stockholm, which was to be their
base for the rest of their career, their nomadic existence meant that they were
often away from home.
They settled in the Bahamas in January 1979 and moved to record backing
tracks in Miami. This change of scene energized their songwriting, and one
song, entitled “Amerika,” propelled by a compelling disco beat, swiftly came to
the fore. Björn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson had been captivated by disco, the
craze that was by then sweeping the world, especially the Bee Gees’ populist
version of it, as well as Chic’s faultless ability to marry rhythm and melody.
Recorded at Criteria Studios, Miami, with veteran U.S. R&B
producer/engineer Tom Dowd in attendance, the rhythm track that was
“Amerika” became “Voulez-Vous.” It was one of their most effective grooves: a
dense and climactic affair, an early example of what would later be known as
eurodisco. Finished at Polar, the track was ostensibly about a pickup at a
nightclub; it featured a joint lead vocal from Frida and Agnetha, and the chorus
referenced the “ah-has” that had proved such a trademark in their earlier success,
“Knowing Me, Knowing You.”
Although not one of their biggest hits at the time, the song’s relative lack of
exposure has made it one of their most enduring numbers. It certainly enlivened
Abba. Within a couple of months, they had nearly completed their new album.
DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
“‘Beat the Clock’ was like a Velvet Underground song when I wrote
it. . . . But what Giorgio did with it was amazing.”
Ron Mael, 2002
In 1978, Sparks were at a crossroads. L.A.-born brothers Ron and Russell Mael
had relocated to England in 1973 and had become overnight sensations. After
three successful long-players, they set their sights on success at home. Two
fruitless albums later, their operatic pomp rock was out of step with its era.
However, a turning point came after the brothers heard, and fell under the
spell of, “I Feel Love” by Donna Summer. Never overenamored of working with
rock musicians, they felt that an amalgamation of their songs with dance beats
and synthesizers was a logical next step. The last act of their outgoing manager,
John Hewlett, was to link the brothers with Giorgio Moroder, then white-hot
after his productions with Summer. As the trio began to work together, Ron and
Russell dispensed with the idea of a “band” and became one of the first
synthesizer duos.
Ron presented Moroder with the songs he had written, and the producer
rejected all of them apart from two, one of which was “Beat the Clock.” Taken
from its piano-based roots, Moroder fashioned it into a snappy piece of disco
pop, with live drums played by his cohort Keith Forsey.
Ron’s witty lyrics focused on the pace of modern living, with its protagonist
entering school at the tender age of two, acquiring his doctorate the same
afternoon, and getting divorced by age four. His life’s ambition is to meet Liz
Taylor . . . and suddenly that happens, as well. The record returned Sparks to the
U.K. Top Ten, propelled by an effective marketing campaign by Virgin Records,
while the serious rock journals sneered about the brothers “going disco.” Two
years later in Britain, the charts would be full of synth duos. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Oliver’s Army
Elvis Costello & The Attractions (1979)
Tusk
Fleetwood Mac (1979)
“It really worked and it’s a glorious noise, something I’m very proud
of. I still find it on jukeboxes.”
Mick Fleetwood, 1995
Gloria
Umberto Tozzi (1979)
The late Seventies are now thought of as a time of febrile punk creativity, yet
most of Europe was in thrall to a distinct variety of disco. And if Abba’s
“Dancing Queen” was the cream of that crop, twenty-seven-year-old Tozzi’s
anthem ran it pretty close. It was the ultimate square’s riposte: a huge chorus
sung by a man with gorgeous hair and no attitude whatsoever. “Gloria” wasn’t
the singer’s biggest hit—“Ti Amo” had dominated the Italian pop charts in 1977
—but it swept the continent (it was also covered by Jonathan King for British
consumption and made the U.S. Latin charts).
In 1982, arranger and keyboard player Greg Mathieson brought the song to
the New World, where Canadian writer Trevor Veitch turned the lyrics around,
from lightweight love song (“Gloria, when I’m with you,” sang King, “my life
takes on new meaning”) to warning (“If everybody wants you, why isn’t
anybody calling?”). Used on Laura Branigan’s debut album, it sold two million
copies in the United States, got to No. 2 in the U.S. charts, and swept back
across the world once more (it hit No. 1 in Germany, holding Tozzi’s own
version off the top spot). That colossal riff refused to lie down, also turning up
on Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical” and Pulp’s “Disco 2000”—and the 2004
election campaign by Filipino president Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. Twenty years
later, Tozzi recorded Veitch’s version for his own Best Of collection. DH
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Today, Nick Drake is seen as one of the most important British singer-
songwriters of the past half century, but his three albums made minimal impact
when released between 1969 and 1972. Drake had expected to be a star, and
became angry and depressed when that failed to happen. In early 1974, his
producer, Joe Boyd, set up a recording session for a new album. Drake was
obviously in no state to record anything, though. Boyd and producer John Wood
managed to get four guitar tracks recorded in one evening, doing the vocals and
rough mix the next night. All four were bleak and bitter laments, none more so
than “Black Eyed Dog.” The track lay unreleased for five years, until it was
added, along with the other three final tracks, to Drake’s third album, Pink
Moon, as part of 1979’s Fruit Tree boxed set.
The “black dog” has long been a symbol for the devil and, since the
eighteenth century, a euphemism for depression—used most notably by Winston
Churchill. Nick Drake once told a journalist that, like bluesman Robert Johnson,
he had a hellhound, or black dog, on his trail. With spare, picked guitar lines on
just three strings and a tremulous, uncertain voice, Drake lamented, “A black-
eyed dog he called at my door / The black-eyed dog he called for more.” The
lines could have come straight from the Robert Johnson songbook. SA See all
songs from the 1970s
1970s
“We had the first electronic No. 1, and that opened a lot of doors for
other bands. I’m proud of that.”
Gary Numan, 2009
The glumly gothic Cure have a heritage of incongruously poppy songs. Indeed,
an early demo won them a contract with a European label who, remembered
main man Robert Smith, “thought they could turn us into a teen group.”
“Boys Don’t Cry”—“a Seventies attempt at a Sixties pop song”—caught the
ear of Polydor’s Chris Parry. He promptly formed the Fiction subsidiary, signed
The Cure, and set them to work on a debut album. The result was Three
Imaginary Boys, which oddly omitted “Boys Don’t Cry,” and their debut single,
“Killing an Arab.” (U.S. label PVC included both songs on a revised version of
the album, titled Boys Don’t Cry, in 1980.)
Issued as a single in 1979, the song flopped. “In a perfect world, ‘Boys Don’t
Cry’ would have been a No. 1 hit,” maintained Smith, nonetheless relieved that
he wouldn’t have to “rewrite that song again and again, just to maintain that
success.” At a festival appearance that summer, he dedicated it to another band
on the bill: Motörhead.
A remixed version in 1986 featured a new vocal by Smith, pitched lower this
time so that he would not have to replicate the higher lines of the original in TV
appearances. The single was used to promote the group’s compilation Standing
on a Beach—which, weirdly, presented listeners with the original version of
“Boys Don’t Cry.”
The song bequeathed a title to the Oscar-winning movie of 1999 starring
Hilary Swank. The movie featured neither of the Cure versions, preferring a
cover by Nathan Larson, partner of singer Nina Persson of The Cardigans. But
The Cure themselves have kept the jangly gem alive: thirty years on, it is a
regular and rapturously received highlight of their Olympian live sets. BM
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Good Times
Chic (1979)
“Good Times” was Chic’s last pop chart success. It topped the U.S. chart in
August 1979, just as the backlash against disco music reached its apogee after
the much-publicized “Disco Demolition” at Chicago’s Comiskey Park, where DJ
Steve Dahl blew up boxes of twelve-inch singles in front of a baying crowd.
However, this was disco that didn’t suck. Recorded as part of the group’s career-
best album, Risqué, “Good Times” is one very clever record. Set over its
simplistic, seductive, and repetitive groove is the ironic suggestion that dancing
in the face of the largest economic recession since the Twenties was possibly not
the smartest thing. Lyricist Nile Rodgers could sense that change was in the air,
and, by adapting the words of old Depression-era standard “Happy Days Are
Here Again,” he jabbed slyly at the ephemeral opulence of the late Seventies.
Not that anyone noticed: they were too busy grooving to it.
Chic suffered badly because of the backlash. Within a year, the group, whose
appearance coincided with the popularity of disco, were persona non grata. By
1983, Rodgers and co-leader Bernard Edwards could only achieve major success
as producers. However, the influence of “Good Times” has proved outstanding
—within two years of its release, Edwards noted at the time, over thirty songs
had appeared that owed a debt to its riff, from Queen and Blondie to Eno and
Byrne. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Despite a handful of solo albums on Motown, Off the Wall marked the true
artistic debut of the star who would rule pop for the next decade. Michael
Jackson had recently joined Epic Records, and there was doubt as to whether the
twenty-year-old former child star would make a viable adult act. His lead single,
“Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough,” was the first recording over which he had
artistic control, and it got off to a puzzling start. Over a stabbing synth bass that
veered sharply from the smooth edges of his old material, Jackson, his boyish
tenor bashful and nervous, offered a spoken appeal to the listener. It sounded
like a kid rambling about Star Wars: “You know, I was wondering, you know . .
. if you could keep on, because the force has got a lot of power, and it makes me
feel like . . . .”
But just one “oooh!” was all it took. The force was strong with this one,
indeed. “Don’t Stop” blasts off with a rhythmic symphony of strings and horns
that dances around Jackson’s mischievous falsetto. Sounding at once sexual and
pure, he peppers the verses with the vocal yaps and hiccups that would soon
become his signature, expressing the flow of barely contained passion. It isn’t
black music or white music, not exactly disco or rock—gloriously, it is somehow
all of those things at once. Little wonder that it resulted in a U.S. No. 1,
Jackson’s first in seven years. MO
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Lost in Music
Sister Sledge (1979)
After Bernard Edwards and Nile Rodgers of Chic had made their production
intentions clear, they were offered the pick of Atlantic’s roster to work with. The
Rolling Stones and Bette Midler were mentioned. However, the duo didn’t wish
to be responsible for major acts “turning disco.” They chose instead to work with
Sister Sledge, a four-piece sister act from Philadelphia that so far had enjoyed
only minor success.
Rodgers and Edwards set to work getting appropriate material to allow the
Sledges—Kim, Joni, and Debbie, led by the wonderfully emotive voice of Kathy
—to achieve the recognition they deserved. Recorded alongside Chic’s own
C’est Chic album and using the same players, the resulting work, We Are
Family, bristled with hits, and none is more appealing than “Lost in Music.”
The idea for the song derived from the fact that, at Chic’s zenith, the
hardworking Edwards and Rodgers would use the phrase “lost in music” when
they wanted people to leave them alone. “It was the code to stop fucking with
me, because I was writing a song!” Rodgers revealed in 2004.
It is a manifesto for freedom, postponing life’s stresses for the rapture of the
dance floor, set ablaze by the euphoric Sledge vocals. A big hit in the United
Kingdom, the widescreen production of “Lost in Music” still sounds like a drive
downtown on the busiest night of the year. DE
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Brass in Pocket
Pretenders (1979)
Outdoor Miner
Wire (1979)
Rapper’s Delight
The Sugarhill Gang (1979)
Writer | Edwards, Rodgers, O’Brien, Jackson, Wright, van der Pool Robinson
Producer | Sylvia Inc.
Label | Sugar Hill
Album | Sugarhill Gang (1980)
Some bands take time to find their place; others spring fully armored as if from
nowhere. So it was with Dead Kennedys, the Californian punks who mixed the
tunes and chutzpah of the Sex Pistols with the sloganeering of The Clash and
announced their intentions with their very first single, a scabrous, satirical, and
unpredictable punk-pop classic. Much of the credit goes to lead singer and
songwriter Jello Biafra, a political prankster who ran for mayor of San Francisco
in 1979.
With its title cribbed from the German national anthem, “California Über
Alles” begins with suitably pounding martial drums and a creeping bass line,
before Biafra’s sarcastic croon takes over, imagining California as a liberal
dictatorship (“Mellow out or you will pay”) under the hippie-approved Democrat
governor Jerry Brown. The left-baiting and Nazi allusions bring a delicious
whiff of iconoclastic tastelessness to the whole enterprise, most notably in the
slowed-down middle section of Disney punk—“Now it’s 1984 Knock, knock at
your front door It’s the suededenim secret police / They’ve come for your
uncool niece.” A thrash-rock holler closes the song.
Having first released it as a single, the band recorded an almost identical
version for their debut album Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables (1980) and
revisited it in easy-listening style in 1981 as “We’ve Got a Bigger Problem
Now,” with Jerry Brown replaced by Ronald Reagan. Then Biafra hooked up
with The Melvins to have a (to date) final go in 2005, this time in honor of the
election of Arnold Schwarzenegger as California governor. It has also been
recorded and retooled by artists as diverse as Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy
and The Delgados. PW
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Typical Girls
The Slits (1979)
“They made really cool music. They were so inspiring in the way they
combined dub and funk and punk.”
Jill Cunniff, Luscious Jackson,1999
Punk was underpinned by the D.I.Y. ethos, the unshakeable belief that a self-
chosen path was infinitely preferable to tagging along with the herd. “Typical
Girls,” one of The Slits’ finest three minutes, exhorted women to take the same
route as themselves and look beyond a magazine-defined agenda of anxiety that
consisted of fretting about “spots, fat, and natural smells.” The alternative, they
suggested, was to ask yourself “who’s bringing out the new, improved model?”
Given this independent stance, it was ironic when an influential figure in the
punk vanguard—Mick Jones, no less—encouraged Ari Up and company to alter
their distinctive style and bring it more into line with what had become the
accepted punk template. “Like a Clash song, smack-boom-boom-boom, one-
two-three-four,” recalled Ari to Harp magazine in 2005. Malcolm McLaren,
Slits manager for the briefest time, had already advised them to turn down the
bass and turn up the lead guitars.
Despite such counsel, “Typical Girls” is conclusive evidence that the group
did right in sticking by their sound and refusing to iron out the kinks that gave
the song its unique character. With its elements of spiky blues, speeded-up
reggae (dub producer Dennis Bovell was at the controls), and classic girl-group
pop, it seemed like three great records rolled into one. The song did not become
a huge hit (it reached No. 60 in the United Kingdom after Island fruitlessly
lobbied for the cover of “I Heard It through the Grapevine” to be the A-side).
Rather, its importance lies in its influence on what was to come. It proved that,
in what was (and still is) a male-dominated industry, women were now making
music on their own terms. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Atomic
Blondie (1979)
In 1981, Ennio Morricone had a hit with “Chi Mai,” but the Italian legend’s
presence had been felt in the U.K. charts not long before. Co-writer Jimmy
Destri admitted that Blondie’s 1980 No. 1 single “Atomic”—itself a remixed
version of the eponymous song on Side Two of the previous year’s Eat to the
Beat)—was shot through with heavy influences from Morricone’s soundtracks
for Sergio Leone’s Sixties spaghetti westerns, starring Clint Eastwood.
When describing his experience of the writing process, the Blondie guitarist
admitted that the music for “Atomic” did not exactly leap into his head fully
formed. Destri elaborated: “Sometimes, a song will spill out in fifteen minutes,
like ‘Maria.’ Sometimes, it will take a year. Like ‘Atomic.’” Fortunately, coming
up with the words was a rather quicker affair for Debbie Harry, whose writing
style was rooted in on-the-spot improvisation. “I would write while the band
were just playing the song and trying to figure it out,” she said. “I would just be
scatting along with them and I would just start going, ‘Ooooooh, your hair is
beautiful.’”
Chrysalis did not drag its heels in exploiting the band’s potential as a hit-
making machine. In just under three years, beginning in early 1978, Blondie
crafted ten U.K. Top Ten hits, including five chart-toppers (with “Atomic” being
the third of those, although it stalled at No. 39 in the United States). At one
point, Harry had a word with the record label about pulling so many songs off
the parent albums. “I thought it was a little bit upsetting, a little bit much.”
However, like “Heart of Glass” before it (pulled from 1978’s Parallel Lines),
“Atomic” was a canny mix of pristine pop and disco danceability that no one
could resist. CB
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Gangsters
The Specials (1979)
“It’s not that we’re just trying to revive ska. It’s using those old
elements to try forming something new.”
Jerry Dammers, 1979
Cars
Gary Numan (1979)
“Cars,” Gary Numan’s first solo single, is arguably the song with which he is
most readily identified. The track showcased the electronic sound that would
become his trademark.
Built around a simple but memorable synth hook, the melodic “Cars”
nevertheless masks a darker perspective, as is true of many of Numan’s songs.
The singer revealed that the track is “about the way I think of the modern motor
car as a personal tank. I can always drive away at the first sign of trouble.” As
the lyrics testify: “Here in my car I feel safest of all I can lock all my doors.”
A significant proportion of the song is instrumental, taking for inspiration the
likes of Kraftwerk’s “Autobahn” and David Bowie’s “Always Crashing in the
Same Car.” The work of author J.G. Ballard also influenced Numan’s
songwriting—for example, the science-fiction author’s “auto”-erotic novel
Crash would later provide the title of a Numan composition.
On its original release, “Cars” topped the U.K. charts and became a U.S. Top
Ten hit. The song’s enduring appeal is such that it has been remixed and reissued
as a single in the United Kingdom on three further occasions, reaching the Top
Twenty twice, as a promotional “vehicle” for Numan compilations (and, in one
instance, as part of an advertising campaign for a lager brand). In 2002, a
fascinating pared-down choral version, produced by Flood, also appeared on
Numan’s Hybrid album.
In 2009, the Scottish government chose Numan to front a “Go Green”
driving campaign, discouraging drivers from making short trips. With “Cars” as
its soundtrack, some commented that Numan’s petrolhead status made him a
somewhat unsuitable candidate for the role. JL
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Babylon’s Burning
The Ruts (1979)
“It’s a short, simple statement and it all leads to one word: anxiety.
Everyone’s anxious. Everyone’s worried.”
Malcolm Owen, 1979
Reggae and punk had been bedfellows from the start—the DJ at punk club The
Roxy, Don Letts, had spun dub sides before the scene produced any records of
its own for him to play, while Bob Marley name-checked everyone from The
Clash to pub-rockers Dr. Feelgood on his 1977 cut “Punky Reggae Party.” And
more than most, second-wave punks The Ruts wore their reggae influences on
their tattered sleeve; tracks such as “Staring at the Rude Boys” and “Jah War”
were infused throughout with Jamaican patois.
“Babylon’s Burning” takes a rasta millenarian concept visited by the likes of
Marley and Max Romeo and sets it to a blistering guitar onslaught, accompanied
by apocalyptic sirens and alarms that evoke the violence in London’s Southall in
spring 1979. The spirit of cultural cross-pollination was taken further by British
rapper Lethal Bizzle in his twenty-first-century grime version, built around a
seemingly subaquatic Ruts sample.
The Ruts’ technical abilities set them apart from their punk contemporaries.
Singer Malcolm Owen, guitarist Paul Fox, and drummer Dave Ruffy were all
veterans of a jazz-funk covers band called Hit & Run, and their sophisticated
arrangements derived as much from a love of Captain Beefheart’s 1972 LP,
Clear Spot, as from the Ramones’ two-minute thrashes. Meanwhile, John “Segs”
Jennings’s thunderous bass lines were learned by studying Tony Henry from
Rastafari collective Misty in Roots. But for all the promise implicit in
“Babylon’s Burning” and its mother album, The Crack, The Ruts’ moment in the
sun was brief. In early 1980, Owen’s addiction to heroin forced the cancellation
of numerous tour dates; in July he was found dead from an overdose. SP
See all songs from the 1970s
1970s
Message in a Bottle
The Police (1979)
Writer | Sting
Producer | Nigel Gray, The Police
Label | A&M
Album | Reggatta de Blanc (1979)
Rapture
Blondie (1980)
Almost churchy in its synthesized organ intro, “While You See a Chance”
represents a Damascene conversion of sorts; a beacon too, and not just for Steve
Winwood. The ultra-polished AOR that would dominate the early CD age, and
spur a new market of affluent middle-aged males, is in its DNA.
After his former band Traffic stalled, Winwood experimented with
performing solo on his 1977 album Steve Winwood. Arc of a Diver found him
playing every instrument and producing the whole album alone. “The only
problem now is writing, which is coming slower for me,” he admitted. “I want to
write with as many people as possible—form new writing relationships.”
Chief co-writer on Arc of a Diver was Will Jennings. He assisted with the
positive vibes and seize-the-day romance of “While You See a Chance,” its lead
single. “Will just came up with the lyric,” Winwood told Mojo, “and it was right
for me, right for him, and right for the song.”
A perfectionist sheen dominates the song. It is a mature take on the
electronic pop that was swallowing the mainstream at the start of the 1980s—
resolutely modern yet rooted by Winwood’s undiminished blues vocal. The
squirty keyboards would date eventually, but not before the single broke the U.S.
Top Ten—and, in its wake, other veterans like Eric Clapton and Phil Collins
found new leases of life. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Tom Waits doesn’t write music that is simple, or facile, or easily understood.
Thirty years old when he recorded the Heartattack and Vine LP, he’d seen
enough of the filth and dross of life to put it into song, but not so much that he
retreated from it.
The album’s title track is a sparse, uneasy composition with pauses between
stabs of warm, overdriven guitar and Waits’s hoarse, semi-shouted vocal. “There
ain’t no devil,” he repeatedly warns us, “just God when he’s drunk.” Referring to
the dregs of life in Los Angeles, Waits portrays a seething mass of humanity,
flawed but not without redemption. “If you want a taste of madness, you’ll have
to wait in line,” he sneers; adding, “You’ll probably see someone you know on
Heartattack and Vine.”
It’s a drug song (he refers to “lines” and “china white”) but it’s also a people
song—a bleak but somehow celebratory picture of life lived in gleeful
desperation when there is no alternative. Though he sued to stop Levi’s using
Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’s version of the song in a commercial, the grimly comic
irony can’t have escaped him.
Over the decades, Waits has worn many faces, but he’s never quite shed his
reputation as a Mad Hatter of the late-night piano stool. The Heartattack album
and its title track form a perfect way in for anyone wishing to acquaint
themselves with his work for the first time. JMc
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“Adam was just the coolest person on the planet. He epitomized the
brilliantly elegant side of punk.”
Justine Frischmann, Elastica, 1995
Influenced by: The Good, the Bad and the Ugly • Ennio Morricone
(1966)
Influence on: The Beautiful People • Marilyn Manson (1996)
Other key tracks: Dog Eat Dog (1980) • Antmusic (1980) • Physical
(You’re So) (1980)
“Through imitation,” proclaimed Adam Ant in 1981, “you eventually arrive at
something that is distinctly yours.” By his own admission, there was nothing
original about the essential ingredients of Adam & The Ants. The band
plundered African tribal drums, Duane Eddy-style twangy guitar, elaborate
pirate costuming and Native American war paint. Rolling them into one potent
package, however, was their own genius.
“Marco [Pirroni, guitarist] and I decided to be very flamboyant—very
escapist, very razzmatazz, very heroic, very noble—and go into certain areas that
were corny but we actually sincerely like,” Ant told the Daytona Beach Morning
Journal. (Drummers Terry Lee Miall and Merrick, and bassist Gary Tibbs,
completed the lineup.)
The single, a rousing commentary on the oppression of Native American
tribes, became the band’s first British Top Fifty hit in August 1980, blasting
their freshly distilled sound and look into the national consciousness with a brash
swagger. “The extent of its success surprised us . . .” Pirroni admitted to Mojo. “I
was trying to get everything I liked into that record. And it worked.”
The chartbusting “Dog Eat Dog” and “Antmusic” followed, pushing the
parent album to platinum in the United Kingdom and gold across the Atlantic.
“With the ‘Kings of the Wild Frontier’ single,” Ant marveled to The Face,
“‘Antmusic for Sexpeople’—which had been an ideal—became a reality.”
After disbanding the group to go solo in 1982, Ant retained the sound
defined by “Kings of the Wild Frontier,” ultimately influencing acts from
Elastica to Nine Inch Nails. “You have to have the artistry to back the
gimmickry,” he said, “because that’s what show business is all about.” EP
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Redemption Song
Bob Marley & The Wailers (1980)
“Way I see . . . it looks simple but it’s true. Rasta for the people!
Capitalism and communism are finished. It Rasta now! ”
Bob Marley, 1979
Dead Souls
Joy Division (1980)
“Joy Division were a heavy metal band,” opined The Smashing Pumpkins’ Billy
Corgan in 2005 (and he should know, since his output is indebted to the
Manchester quartet, and he joined the band’s surviving members in New Order
for a 2001 tour).
The best evidence for Corgan’s claim is the coruscating “Dead Souls.” It was
written in 1979, amid a creative surge that also created the classic “These Days”
and “Atmosphere.” While it may not have entered the public consciousness in
the same way as the band’s swan song, “Love Will Tear Us Apart,” it is no less
emotive or haunting.
The song was first issued in March 1980, with the sepulchral “Atmosphere,”
on Licht und Blindheit—a (very) limited edition single on the French
independent label Sordide Sentimental. It reappeared on the Factory label’s
compilation Still, which gave Joy Division their highest chart placing (No. 5) in
their native Britain. “Dead Souls” was one of only two previously released
studio tracks on the album.
After a two-minute instrumental introduction, “Dead Souls” got underway
with “Someone take these dreams away / that point me to another day.” Curtis’s
fierce demands reflected his alienation and desperation to escape the band’s
bleak environment. Or, as writer Jon Savage put it, “‘Dead Souls’ is an
unsettling evocation of psychic possession and the presence of past lives.” GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Since 1975, when they shared the bill at a gig in Kingston, Jamaica, Stevie
Wonder and Bob Marley had developed similar careers. In 1973, each had
success, with the albums Innervisions and Catch a Fire, respectively. Wonder
followed up in 1976 with Songs in the Key of Life. After Marley released the
equally acclaimed Exodus, the two again shared a stage, in Philadelphia in 1979.
In 1980, Wonder had another hit with Hotter than July. The title came from a
track that Wonder had written in tribute to Marley and his music. With an
irresistible reggae feel, it referenced Marley’s Exodus cut “Jamming,” and also
mentioned the Jamaican superstar in the lyrics.
“Master Blaster (Jammin’)” became one of Wonder’s biggest hits, reaching
No. 2 in the United Kingdom, and spending seven weeks at the top of
Billboard’s R&B chart. On an album that Wonder used to campaign for a public
holiday to celebrate Martin Luther King’s birthday, “Master Blaster” also carried
political themes.
Bob Marley and Stevie Wonder were set to play together again during
Wonder’s tour for Hotter than July, planned for 1981. Unfortunately, Marley’s
cancer overwhelmed him and he died in May that year. Fittingly, however,
Marley’s son Stephen covered “Master Blaster” for the 2003 tribute album
Conception: An Interpretation of Stevie Wonder’s Songs. SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Oddball prog rock had not made stars of British folkies Stackridge. They split
amid the onslaught of punk, but bassist James Warren and drummer Andy Davis
reinvented themselves as smart poppers The Korgis. After a hit in 1979 with “If
I Had You,” Davis quit, leaving Warren with multi-instrumentalists Stuart
Gordon and Phil Harrison.
With a synthesizer borrowed from Peter Gabriel, The Korgis added lush
layers to their polished pop. Nowhere was this sophistication more evident than
on the halting, haunting “Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime.” Warren
maintained that the lyrics were “the ones that first came into my head,” yet the
song’s four simple lines proved remarkably moving. Unfortunately, its air of
forgiveness was not mirrored within the group. Global success, rued Warren to
Bristol Rocks, “only served to exacerbate and intensify the tensions that existed
in the band.” With no further hits, The Korgis splintered within two years.
Nonetheless, the song has been covered by a host of admirers, from synth-
poppers Erasure to Italian crooner Zucchero and alternative rockers Glasvegas.
In 1995, dance act Baby D took “(Everybody’s Got to Learn Sometime) I Need
Your Loving” into the U.K. Top Three—a year after producer Jon Brion
contributed his version, fronted by Beck, to the soundtrack of Michel Gondry’s
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Back in Black
AC/DC (1980)
Writer | Brian Johnson, Angus Young, Malcolm Young Producer | Robert John
“Mutt” Lange Label | Atlantic
Album | Back in Black (1980)
Back in Black wasn’t just another album for AC/DC: it marked their return after
the death of singer Bon Scott the previous year. As a tribute and a statement, it
was a multiplatinum triumph, thanks to songs such as the monstrous title track.
“Back in Black” was based on a typically unforgettable guitar figure from
Malcolm Young, buffed to a glossy sheen by “Mutt” Lange, and leavened by the
leather-larynxed Brian Johnson, Bon Scott’s successor. If fans had been
expecting mellow introspection, they were immediately relieved: “Back in
Black” was that rare thing—a song that was both catchy and crunching.
Almost three decades on, the influence of the song is incalculable. “Most
bands,” observed Charlie Benante of Anthrax, “learned how to play by listening
to this record.” The Beastie Boys, meanwhile, sampled it on “Rock Hard” in
1985. Beasties engineer George Drakoulias remembered: “Rick [Rubin,
producer] played it on a Walkman for Angus and Malcolm Young, and they
weren’t upset about it, just intrigued. It was like, ‘Ah, interesting! I see what
you’ve done there! But aren’t the drums very loud?’”
In 2009, an all-star panel in Classic Rock magazine voted “Back in Black”
the best AC/DC song. One accolade even came from John Oates, of Hall &
Oates, who declared it “perfectly simple and elegant in a heavy sort of way.”
JMc See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“It’s got three chords in it, hasn’t it?” Pete Townshend remarked to the BBC in
1983. “When I was getting the songs together for a gig I did recently, I realized
that all the songs I wanted to play had the same three chords in them. . . . I did it
on a computerized organ machine, and then decided to put a vocal on it—just
singing the first thing that came into my head—and that’s what came out.”
Simplicity was key to “Let My Love Open the Door.” Townshend’s writing
for The Who in the preceding decade had been sandbagged by self-importance
and self-doubt; but, freed from the supergroup’s conceptual and sonic shackles,
he sounded gloriously cheerful. The song duly matched the No. 9 position of
The Who’s biggest U.S. hit, “I Can See for Miles,” released in 1967.
Though the lyric sounds romantic, the song was interpreted as a lesson
learned from Indian spiritual teacher Meher Baba, of whom Townshend was a
follower. “When you go to the tavern—which is to God—and you ask for his
love . . . you have to give him [an] empty glass,” he explained. “There’s no point
giving him your heart if it’s full already.”
The song had an earthly effect too. “I released Empty Glass,” Townshend
told Playboy, “and then went on to do the Who tour, and I could see the
difference immediately. There were all these girls coming backstage asking,
‘Which one of you wrote “Let My Love Open Your Door”?’” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Geno
Dexys Midnight Runners (1980)
“He was the greatest soul singer that ever lived, apart from James
Brown.”
Kevin Rowland, 1980
Influenced by: Michael (The Lover) • Geno Washington & The Ram
Jam Band (1966)
Influence on: Ghost Town • The Specials (1981)
Other key tracks: Dance Stance (1979) • There, There, My Dear
(1980) • I Love You (Listen to This) (1985) • This Is What She’s Like
(1985)
Back in ’68 in a sweaty club, Kevin Rowland saw soul journeyman Geno
Washington, heard the crowd chanting the singer’s name, and decided he could
do this job. It took him a dozen years to get around to it, but he and songwriting
partner Kevin “Al” Archer finally quit punk also-rans The Killjoys to—
according to Rowland—“wear great clothes and make soulful music.” The
clothes were Mean Streets-inspired dockers’ threads; the music brass-led R&B
from the rough side of the tracks.
”Geno,” their second single, stomped to No. 1 in the United Kingdom. (“I
went up to him,” marveled Duran Duran’s Nick Rhodes. “‘That’s great, Kevin.
You’re No. 1.’ ‘Urrggghhh,’ and he storms off. . . . Unbelievable!”) Its raw
power evoked Northern soul, while the brass was pure ska. In the 2-Tone era of
The Specials, Rowland’s wildhearted outsiders fitted perfectly.
A tribute in implication only, “Geno” ends up sneering at its subject.
Rowland tips his woolly hat to Washington’s way with a crowd, but Geno’s
washed-up, his song is “so tame”. Now it’s Rowland’s time, but don’t worry,
he’ll “remember your name.” Nonetheless, Rowland told Sounds, “I know he
blew it, played the cabaret circuit and pissed everyone off but he’s criminally
underrated, especially the band he had about ’65. The fire and emotion he
performed with, total conviction . . . it’s that strength and passion we try to put
in.”
But perhaps Washington had the last laugh. The song’s success brought
Dexys Midnight Runners a whole new audience, tuned to one song only. (“It
might have detracted from our live set,” ventured Archer, “and alienated the
original fans.”) But what a song! MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Guilty
Barbra Streisand and Barry Gibb (1980)
“Barbra sings something once and it’s magic . . . each time she sings,
it’s good.”
Barry Gibb, 1980
“It was not your common rock ’n’ roll session . . . but it did sound
great.”
The Edge, U2, 2006
Wardance
Killing Joke (1980)
Staring hard into his crystal ball told Jaz Coleman, Killing Joke’s main mischief-
maker, that it was a question of when, not if, we were all to be engulfed in a
nuclear fireball before the Eighties were very old.
“Wardance” was the band’s inimitable way of embracing the inevitable. As
jester Jaz said: “Enjoy it, have a laugh about it, revel in it. Don’t look away from
it.” Opening a live set with this aural battering ram in 1981, he told the crowd:
“Let’s be realistic—we’ve only got a few years left. So let’s make the most of
it.”
That meant losing yourself in music that could loosen the fillings in your
teeth. “Wardance” is simple, savage, and skull-crushing: harsh, robotic vocals
and skin-peeling guitar grinding like metal being pulled apart after a car crash.
Some copies of the single came with fake military call-up papers, emphasizing
the band’s belief in what was coming over the horizon.
Such sentiments didn’t seem to be appreciated when the British band—
featuring future session star and super producer Martin “Youth” Glover—played
it at a Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament benefit concert in London. Coleman,
however, found it “hilariously funny.” If certain elements in the United
Kingdom didn’t get the joke, overseas audiences were more attuned, especially
in Germany. “They loved it,” said Coleman. “They were like wild pigs rushing
all over the place.”
In the end, the world kept spinning and Coleman’s dash to Iceland in 1982 in
a bid to avoid the apocalypse proved unnecessary. But, as he warned in 1979,
“Our music’s destructive—it’s not supposed to make people happy. It’s
supposed to shake them up.” CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Ace of Spades
Motörhead (1980)
Writer | Ian “Lemmy” Kilmister, “Fast” Eddie Clarke, “Philthy” Phil Taylor
Producer | Vic Maile
Label | Bronze
Album | Ace of Spades (1980)
Lemmy is, let’s face it, familiar with the occasional amphetamine rush.
Generously, the Motörhead main man shared its aural equivalent with us on
“Ace of Spades.” A life lived defiantly against a stacked deck was conjured up
from dice, cards, and other gambling imagery. However, the references could
have been less persuasive had Lemmy used his personal preferences: “I’m more
into the one-armed bandits actually,” he wrote in his autobiography.
Aside from its crunching catchiness, the track’s success lay in its simplicity.
But milestones, even ones this memorable, can also be millstones. It was the
song that introduced many to the band, reaching No. 15 in the United Kingdom
in 1980. Yet for many people, the relationship never progressed beyond that
stage. Lemmy has said that it has been used to open sets “just to get it out of the
way.”
Other times, however, he has been more benevolent. “I like dressing in the
same socks for three weeks running,” he told Q, “pedaling out there and raising
the trammeled face to the rafters and croaking out ‘Ace of Spades’ again.”
The song’s ubiquity might have lessened its impact, especially after its use in
commercials for everything from potato chips to Swedish furniture; but “Ace of
Spades” was a pile-driving way of narrowing the gap between punk and metal,
and remains an all-time anthem. CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Start!
The Jam (1980)
Some said Paul Weller’s admiration for Pete Townshend led to readily
identifiable similarities in his songs. With “Start!” the press switched to
wondering if he was borrowing from another music legend. “It was obvious,
wasn’t it?” quipped Weller to Uncut. “I think we copied James Brown.”
In less lighthearted moments, Weller robustly defended the similarities
between the band’s second U.K. chart-topper and The Beatles’ Revolver opener
“Taxman.” “I use anything,” he declared, “and I don’t really care whether people
think it’s credible or not, or if I’m credible to do it.”
For the Sound Affects album (their fifth in less than four years, Weller
wanted what he called a “stripped down” ambience compared to what had gone
before: “I thought ‘Going Underground’ was a peak and we were getting a little
safe with that sound. That’s why we’ve done ‘Start!’” A decision was taken to
introduce the public to a new side to the band—one where Weller’s brittle guitar
provided a nervous urgency, befitting the song’s original title, “Two Minutes.”
In a touché moment, when asked if “Taxman” composer George Harrison
had been in contact, Weller said: “Nah. He’s in no position to talk, is he?”
Harrison, of course, had run into legal troubles nine years earlier, as a result of
similarities between his “My Sweet Lord” and “He’s So Fine” by The Chiffons.
CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Once in a Lifetime
Talking Heads (1980)
Writer | David Byrne, Chris Frantz, Jerry Harrison, Tina Weymouth, Brian Eno
Producer | Brian Eno, Talking Heads
Label | Sire
Album | Remain in Light (1980)
“It was the perfect example of . . . where they combine quirkiness with
a real melodic ear.”
Rick Wright, Pink Floyd, 1996
Vienna
Ultravox (1980)
“It’s fun to debate whether Ultravox were better with John Foxx or
Midge Ure.”
Moby, 2000
Caballo viejo
Simón Díaz (1980)
I Got You
Split Enz (1980)
Split Enz’s breakthrough hit arrived eight years into the career of the flamboyant
and arty New Zealand group whose albums had ricocheted between oddball
experimentation, leftfield whimsy, and charming pop.
The Enz had relocated to London for a dispiriting few years, just as punk
was beginning. When founder members and co-writers Phil Judd and Mike
Chunn exited the group, front man Tim Finn’s younger brother Neil took over
lead guitar. His inexperience led to material that was simpler and more
immediate. This proved fortuitous, as Neil’s songs betrayed a knack for melodic
pop. “I Got You” perfectly fused the wonderful oddness of Split Enz’s early
records with a bright, radio-friendly clarity. Nervy, anxious verses, singing of a
paranoid romance, led to a nagging, addictively upbeat chorus, propelled by
brashly joyous synth and Finn’s Beatlesque harmonies. “The Beatles were our
main influence . . .” observed Tim Finn, “so, in a way, we were getting back to
our roots.”
The single won the group international attention; topping the charts at home,
reaching No. 12 in the United Kingdom, and No. 53 in the United States. It
didn’t secure long-term success for Split Enz, but it was Neil Finn’s first
introduction to charts he would regularly grace with Crowded House (whom his
brother briefly joined), bringing his gift for perfect pop to the fore. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
It Must Be Love
Madness (1981)
Writer | Labi Siffre Producer | Clive Langer, Alan Winstanley Label | Stiff
Album | N/A
After nine hit singles and three successful albums, Madness were flying high at
the turn of the 1980s. With their Nutty Boys personas proving popular with the
public, they were reluctant to record someone else’s sweet-natured love song.
However, keyboardist Mike Barson had heard Labi Siffre’s single (a U.K. hit in
1971) and thought it would fit well with singer Suggs’s voice. He introduced it
to his bandmates during rehearsals and they began playing it as an encore at
gigs.
At one concert, Stiff label boss Dave Robinson heard “It Must Be Love” and
set about persuading the band that the song was a potential hit. Robinson was so
convinced, he bet that if it didn’t make the Top Five in the United Kingdom, he
would give the band his record company.
The first version of the song was recorded in a home studio in Newcastle
upon Tyne, England. As the result sounded merely like a good demo, it was
rerecorded and finessed in London. This second take helped it reach No. 4 in the
U.K. chart. (A reissue in 1992 also climbed into the U.K. Top Ten.) Labi Siffre
liked the distinctive reworking so much that he appeared in the single’s video.
Producer Trevor Horn, taken by its pizzicato strings, emulated them on ABC’s
1982 album The Lexicon of Love. Most fittingly, when Norman Cook—aka
Fatboy Slim—and Zoë Ball married in 1999, they had Suggs sing it at the
wedding. DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Tom Sawyer
Rush (1981)
Writer | Geddy Lee, Alex Lifeson, Neil Peart, Pye Dubois Producer | Rush,
Terry Brown
Label | Anthem
Album | Moving Pictures (1981)
Groovy isn’t a word often associated with polished prog rockers Rush. But as the
Eighties dawned, they streamlined LP-length conceits into song-sized classics
such “The Spirit of Radio.”
A contemporary take on Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
busted them out of the prog ghetto. Ominous synths, bassist Geddy Lee’s
distinctive vocals, Alex Lifeson’s blistering guitar, and Neil Peart’s spectacular
drumming were par for the course. But the song had a weirdly funky feel, hence
its sampling by hip-hop acts including Mellow Man Ace and Young Black
Teenagers.
The Canadian trio shared the credits with poet Pye Dubois. “His original
lyrics,” said Peart, “were kind of a portrait of a modern day rebel—a free-
spirited individualist. . . . I added the themes of reconciling the boy and man in
myself, and the difference between what people are, and what others perceive
them to be—namely me, I guess.”
“Right up until the end it was a struggle,” Lee told Classic Rock. “Alex went
through a hundred different sounds for the guitar solo. There’s always one song
that haunts you and drives you crazy.”
“Tom Sawyer” has been used in movies such as Rob Zombie’s Halloween
remake, TV shows including Family Guy, Chuck, and The Sopranos, and even a
2000 car commercial. “We really don’t have a problem with it,” the band
declared, “as it was tastefully done.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Girls on Film
Duran Duran (1981)
Writer | Simon Le Bon, Nick Rhodes, Andy Taylor, John Taylor, Roger Taylor
Producer | Colin Thurston
Label | EMI
Album | Duran Duran (1981)
“We knew exactly what we were doing with the ‘Girls on Film’
video.”
John Taylor, 2001
Influenced by: Old Time Rock & Roll • Bob Seger & The Silver
Bullet Band (1978)
Influence on: Everybody Get Up • Five (1998)
Covered by: Ghoti Hook (1998) • Britney Spears (2002) • Queen of
Japan (2002) • Hayseed Dixie (2002) • Showaddywaddy (2006)
Tracing an inspirational arc from Suzi Quatro, through L7 to Britney Spears,
Joan Jett’s “I Love Rock ’n Roll” topped the Billboard chart in the United States
for seven weeks in 1982. Its raw chords, raunchy lyrics, and anthemic chorus
stood out in a year where hits wore their glossy production on their sleeves. At
the same time, the song’s gritty black-and-white video was one of the most
played in early MTV history.
Quitting all-girl teen group The Runaways in 1979, Jett sought to break free
from the limitations of glam rock. After spotting the original version of “I Love
Rock ’n Roll,” by The Arrows, on British television in 1976, she recorded the
track with Sex Pistols Steve Jones and Paul Cook (the punk degenerates had
taken The Runaways under their wing during their tour of the United Kingdom).
However, this incarnation appeared only as a B-side in Holland. “We buried
the first version . . .” Jett declared, “because the record company weren’t
pushing it.” With its “So put another dime in the jukebox, baby” refrain, the
song—re-recorded in 1981—harks back to rock’s golden age. Britney Spears’s
version, released two decades later, however, prompted Jett to remark, “I doubt
she loves rock ’n’ roll.”
The film Wayne’s World used the track to hilarious effect in 1992 and it
appears in music video game Guitar Hero. Undoubtedly great news for Jett, who
kept all her rejection letters from record companies, one having the temerity to
suggest to her that “You have no songs . . . and you can’t be hard if you’re a
girl.” In 2003, Rolling Stone magazine confirmed Jett’s credibility, naming her
—alongside Joni Mitchell—as one of just two women in their “100 Greatest
Guitarists” list. SS
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Mickey
Toni Basil (1981)
Computer Love
Kraftwerk (1981)
“One group I saw around that time who blew me away was
Kraftwerk. They were amazing.”
Madonna, 1994
O Superman
Laurie Anderson (1981)
“I love ‘O Superman.’”
Kate Bush, 1985
Laurie Anderson has spent her career operating outside the mainstream. In the
1970s, she worked New York City’s avant-garde performance art scene, palling
around with fellow eccentrics like writer William S. Burroughs and comedian
Andy Kaufman. One piece, Duets on Ice, featured Anderson playing violin while
wearing skates, which were frozen in a block of ice. The performance ended
when the ice melted.
Anderson was thus an unlikely candidate to score a hit. That she didn’t
soften her heady approach to do so makes the accomplishment all the more
amazing.
“O Superman” was conceived as a cover of the aria “O Souverain, o juge, o
père,” from Jules Massenet’s 1885 opera Le Cid. It turned out to be a minimalist
manifesto—featuring two chords, “ha” repeated countless times, and Anderson’s
spoken words through a vocoder.
The song commented, with oblique humor, on the United States’s
involvement in Iran: “When justice is gone, there’s always force. And when
force is gone, there’s always Mom. Hi Mom!” Her aim was to make humane,
warm imagery as compelling as horror. “It’s certainly the case in ‘O
Superman.’” enthused David Bowie in 1983. “That’s a very delicate balance; a
marvelous piece of work.”
Seemingly too long for radio—over eight minutes—it still soared to No. 2 in
the United Kingdom but nonetheless remains Anderson’s sole hit. Its influence,
however, can be felt in the dance and electronic genres. In particular, “O
Superman” has proved ripe for mashups, which have pitted it against artists
including Dolly Parton and Tears for Fears. And, in 1997, David Bowie covered
the song live. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“It’s wonderful that an urban myth has grown up around it . . .” Phil Collins told
Uncut, concerning rumors that “In the Air Tonight” is about a murder. “Because
I can say with hand on heart that I have no idea what it’s about.”
The song took shape in 1979. Collins played it to his colleagues in Genesis—
but, as he told Melody Maker, “it was kind of too simple for the band.” Manager
Tony Smith and Collins’s U.S. label boss Ahmet Ertegun duly persuaded him to
develop his demos for a solo outing.
A key development was his cameo on the third album by former Genesis
singer Peter Gabriel. “Phil was playing drums,” remembered engineer Hugh
Padgham, “and I opened the reverse talkback mic. We heard the most
unbelievable, distorted, crunching sound.” Impressed by this and other
percussive innovations, Collins hired Padgham to work on his own album, Face
Value.
Despite Collins’s reputation for mainstream balladeering, the eerie song
remains one of his best loved. In 1985, he played it on both sides of the Atlantic
for Live Aid. It also achieved an odd ubiquity in rap: adapted by Lil’ Kim for the
tribute album Urban Renewal, cited by Eminem in “Stan,” and sampled by Doug
E Fresh and DMX. As Daryl Steurmer, who played guitar on the original, said:
“I remember thinking, ‘Wow, good song, Phil—you’ve got a nice little career
ahead of you there.’” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Edge of Seventeen
Stevie Nicks (1981)
Via con me
Paolo Conte (1981)
A former marimba player who cut his teeth in several Italian jazz bands during
the early 1960s, Paolo Conte worked for much of his early career as a lawyer in
his hometown of Asti, near Genoa. He eventually started writing songs with his
brother, creating hits for other artists. It was only in 1974, prompted by the
renowned producer Italo “Lilli” Greco, that Conte released his debut solo album.
“Via con me” is his best-known song and comes from his fourth album,
which found him at the height of his powers. It established Conte as the leading
exponent of canzone d’autore (Italy’s esoteric cousin of the singer-songwriter
genre) and later featured in the movie French Kiss (1995).
Conte’s love of prewar American jazz is obvious in the suavely swinging
accompaniment, but he gives this a European twist, with echoes of French
chansonniers and a dash of Django Reinhardt.
“Via con me” is a track typical of Conte’s playful relationship with language,
mixing both his own tongue and a trademark half-scatted English. Most of the
lyrics are in Italian, with Conte casually proposing in a gravelly speak-singing
tone that an unnamed lover come away with him.
The phrase that jumps out at most English speakers is “It’s wonderful, it’s
wonderful,” which Conte slurs into something like “swunerful, swunerful.” And
yes, he really is saying “chips, chips, dat to doo di do, chi boom, chi boom.” JLu
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Under Pressure
Queen & David Bowie (1981)
Writer | Queen, David Bowie Producer | Queen, David Bowie Label | EMI
Album | Hot Space (1982)
Six years after their first U.K. No. 1—the iconic “Bohemian Rhapsody” in 1975
—Queen topped the charts again. This time they were assisted by the Thin White
Duke himself.
Although “Under Pressure” proved a match made in heaven, it was the
product of providence. Queen owned Mountain Studios in Switzerland, where
Bowie was a neighbor and visitor. “Someone suggested that we should all go
into the studio and play around one night,” recalled Queen’s Brian May. This
jam spawned the genesis of “Under Pressure,” which was finished during what
May described as “an extremely long night.”
Neither May nor Bowie was happy with the result. Nonetheless, with front
man Freddie Mercury’s affecting “Why can’t we give love that one more
chance?” the song presented an emotional plea for tolerance and compassion in a
pressure-cooker world. It was the highlight of Queen’s uncharacteristically
funky Hot Space.
Queen wasted no time wowing audiences with the track. Bowie, however,
didn’t perform it until a year after Mercury’s untimely death; duetting with
Annie Lennox at a 1992 concert in honor of the Queen vocalist. “Under
Pressure” has since been heard in the most unexpected places—even serving as
an official wake-up call for the crew of Space Shuttle flight STS-116 on
December 14, 2006. BC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Girl band the Go-Go’s burst onto the Los Angeles punk scene in the late 1970s,
but, within a few years, they’d put their rebellious beginnings behind them,
thanks in part to the success of their debut album, Beauty and the Beat. Packed
with quirky, exuberant tunes, it topped the Billboard chart and transformed the
group into superstars.
The newly crowned pop princesses were shot to the top by “We Got the
Beat,” but more enduring was “Our Lips are Sealed.” With chugging guitar and
pulsing bass, the buoyant ditty fitted seamlessly into the band’s goodtime
frivolity. But this sonic sugar-coating masked a tale of infidelity concerning the
song’s co-writer, guitarist Joe Wiedlin.
“I met Terry Hall, the singer of The Specials,” she told Songfacts, “and
ended up having kind of a romance. He sent me the lyrics to ‘Our Lips Are
Sealed’ later in the mail, and it was kind of about our relationship, because he
had a girlfriend at home and all this other stuff. “Wiedlin polished the lyrics
before it was recorded. “I was really afraid to show it to the band in case they
didn’t like it . . .” she confessed. “But luckily they did like it.”
Terry Hall was equally impressed, and released the song with his new outfit,
Fun Boy Three, in 1983. “They did a really great version of it . . .” enthused
Wiedlin. “It was a lot gloomier than the Go-Go’s version.” SF
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Genius of Love
Tom Tom Club (1981)
The boingy bass, synth chirrups, and lazy beats of “Genius of Love” crop up on
cuts by acts from Grandmaster Flash (“It’s Nasty”) and De La Soul (“Shoomp”)
to Mariah Carey, whose 1995 single “Fantasy” was little more than a straight
copy.
Tom Tom Club was formed in 1980 by Talking Heads rhythm section (and
married couple) Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz, when relations in the day-job
band were at their lowest ebb. Complaining about early pressings of the Heads’
1980 album Remain in Light crediting singer David Byrne rather too heavily,
Frantz asserted: “It wasn’t an administrative error. It was an error by a member
of the band who is used to taking credit for everything that happens.”
For the new band, the pair recruited Talking Heads’ touring guitarist Adrian
Belew, Jamaican producer Steven Stanley, and session players including
Weymouth’s singer sisters Laura, Loric, and Lani. After the proto-hip-hop track
“Wordy Rappinghood,” “Genius of Love” established Tom Tom Club’s
sunshine sound.
A woozily sung tribute to a mighty fine boyfriend, it praises this “maven of
funk mutation” and namechecks Funkadelic bassman Bootsy Collins, disco
pioneer Hamilton Bohannon, and, most stridently, James Brown. With its
lolloping gait and squeaky hook, “Genius of Love” fuels grooves and bank
balances to this day. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Ghosts
Japan (1981)
“If I listen to that track now, I’m still amazed it did as well as it did.”
David Sylvian, 1993
Tainted Love
Soft Cell (1981)
Writer | Ed Cobb
Producer | Mike Thorne
Label | Some Bizzare
Album | Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret (1981)
Everything was going swell in Motörhead’s world in 1980, with the hit “Ace of
Spades” under their bullet belts. Then drummer Phil “Philthy Animal” Taylor
lived up to his nickname during a friendly test of strength, and broke his neck.
Taylor’s bandmates—bassist and front man Lemmy, and guitarist “Fast”
Eddie Clarke—filled their downtime by recording with labelmates Girlschool.
The result was the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre EP, commonly credited to
Headgirl, on which Motörhead (with Girlschool’s Denise Dufort on drums)
covered Girlschool’s “Emergency,” while the girls tackled Lemmy and Co.’s
“Bomber.” The bands united on “Please Don’t Touch”—a career highlight for
both.
The song, a 1959 single by Johnny Kidd & The Pirates, best known for
“Shakin’ All Over,” appeared an unlikely choice. But Lemmy had long been a
fan of 1950s rock; hence Fools Paradise, his 2006 covers album, as The Head
Cat (featuring the Stray Cats’ Slim Jim Phantom).
Headgirl’s version wasn’t punk, metal, or any of the other labels that Lemmy
so despised being used on his music. It was rock ’n’ roll—and, according to
Lemmy’s sleevenotes on the 1984 compilation No Remorse, an improvement on
the original. The ferocious vocals and roaring tune made it a track that punks,
metal-heads, and even pop fans could agree on.
“‘Please Don’t Touch’ was such a crossover record,” Girlschool’s Kelly
Johnson enthused to Creem. “So many different people bought it.” The EP duly
crashed the U.K. Top Five—landing Headgirl on Top of the Pops and further
cementing Motörhead’s status as one of the most influential bands in rock. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Super Freak
Rick James (1981)
Rick James signed to Motown in 1966, having gone AWOL from the Navy to
front R&B group The Mynah Birds. He finally achieved superstardom fifteen
years later with an anthem perfectly tailored for the synth-funk bad boy.
“Super Freak” was a fierce slab of digital sleaze, featuring James lustfully
crooning about “a very kinky girl, the kind you don’t take home to mother.” The
Temptations (featuring James’s uncle, Melvin Franklin) provided backing
vocals, but it was a 180-degree turn from the wholesome fare of Sixties-era
Motown. “I just put ‘Super Freak’ together really quickly,” James told Musician
in 1983. “I wanted a silly song that had a bit of new wave texture to it. So I just
came up with this silly little lick and expounded on it.”
“Super Freak” sent Street Songs triple platinum, and James enjoyed his
newfound fame to the hilt, even guesting on TV’s The A-Team, singing his hit at
a prison concert. Only a few years later, however, James found himself
incarcerated in Folsom Prison for real, for kidnapping and assault.
His career would not recover. But “Super Freak” lived on, thanks to MC
Hammer heavily sampling it for his 1990 smash, “U Can’t Touch This,” and
Jay-Z looping it for his 2006 track “Kingdom Come.” The original, meanwhile,
brilliantly soundtracked a scandalous dance routine by a seven-year-old girl in
the 2006 comedy Little Miss Sunshine. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | Steve Perry, Neal Schon, Jonathan Cain Producer | Mike Stone, Kevin
Elson
Label | Columbia
Album | Escape (1981)
Critically despised though it was, Adult-Oriented Rock gave the world mighty
tunes: Nirvana looted Boston’s “More Than a Feeling”; only hard hearts don’t
melt at REO Speedwagon’s “Keep on Loving You”; and the most downloaded
pre-2000 song of the twenty-first century? “Don’t Stop Believin’.”
The all-time anthem began with keyboardist Jonathan Cain, who joined
Journey for Escape. “He brought ‘Don’t Stop Believin’,” guitarist Neal Schon
told Billboard’s Craig Rosen. “I came up with a coupla chords and jammed them
out and then he and Steve [Perry, vocalist] finished it.”
With Schon riffing “like a locomotive,” Cain and Perry developed a lyrical
tale of young lovers. (Thanks to this and two hit ballads—“Who’s Crying Now”
and “Open Arms”—Escape became the make-out album for American teens.)
The anthemic “Don’t Stop Believin’” has featured in TV’s Scrubs, Family Guy,
Laguna Beach, and—most stupendously—the very end of The Sopranos. “I
didn’t want the song to be part of a bloodbath, if that was going to be the closing
moment,” Perry told People. “In order for me to feel good about approving the
song use, they had to tell me what happened. And they made me swear that I
would not tell anybody.” However, he told Blender, “When I saw the show, I
thought it was perfect. I was shouting in my house, throwing my arms up:
‘Woooooh!’” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Pretty in Pink
The Psychedelic Furs (1981)
Ghost Town
The Specials (1981)
“It’s that classic, no future, nihilistic punk thing. ‘Ghost Town’ might
well have been the only punk No. 1.”
Billy Bragg, 2002
Having released three singles and one album in 1980, The Passions were in
search of a breakthrough when they entered Clink Street Studios in London to
begin their sophomore effort. Guitarist Clive Timperley (formerly of The 101-
ers, with The Clash’s Joe Strummer) and bassist David Agar were simply
jamming a three-chord progression, when vocalist Barbara Gogan blurted out the
line, “I’m in love with a German film star.” At that, drummer Richard Williams
snuffed out his cigarette and commented, “That’s a hit single”—and he was
right.
The object of Gogan’s desires wasn’t Klaus Kinski, Marlene Dietrich, or, for
that matter, even German or a star. The mysterious, forlorn lyrics were in tribute
to former Sex Pistols roadie Steve Connelly—who had a few parts in minor
German films and TV shows, before entering the stage lighting industry. Yet
Gogan’s wispy delivery was the musical equivalent of a wide-eyed teen
daydreaming over a Hollywood pin-up.
She was accompanied, to perfection, by a moody arrangement of echoing,
decaying guitar, icy keyboards, and the otherworldly beats of a drum channeled
through a vocoder. The whole package was as strange as it was enticing and
hypnotic—an odd post-punk offering from an entity originally known as a guitar
band.
The song peaked at No. 25 in the U.K. charts, a height that the band
wouldn’t come close to for the brief remainder of its career. The Passions, who
broke up in the mid-Eighties, are now remembered as a “one-hit wonder.” But
that hit was highly influential, and has since been covered by both the Foo
Fighters and the Pet Shop Boys (producing artist Sam Taylor-Wood). JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I don’t like listening to a song and being able to pick out every single
word.”
Michael Stipe, 1983
The Message
Grandmaster Flash & The Furious Five (1982)
It was the moment when the pioneers of hip-hop, stars of the 1970s South Bronx
party scene, whose DJ invented quick mixing, hit the big time. Yet Grandmaster
Flash & The Furious Five don’t really appear on “The Message”—except on the
label.
The track, from an idea by session musician Duke Bootee, was engineered
by Sugar Hill label boss Sylvia Robinson into a politicized hip-hop track for her
stars, Flash and his MCs. But only one, Melle Mel, appears on the record, thanks
to a verse of social commentary he had used on their 1980 release, “Super
Rappin’.”
“The Message” is the only hip-hop song in the American Library of
Congress’s National Recording Registry. As Public Enemy’s Chuck D noted, it
“gave a platform for every single rap group that came afterwards”—and Melle
Mel’s “ha ha ha ha ha” even inspired the laughter on Genesis’s hit “Mama.”
“When ‘The Message’ became the hottest song that summer,” recalled Red Hot
Chili Peppers front man Anthony Kiedis, “it started dawning on me that you
don’t have to be Al Green or have an incredible Freddie Mercury voice to have a
place in the world of music.”
However, the division of the group for their biggest hit led to a fatal rift.
Flash split the band, suing Sugar Hill over royalties and the use of his name. But
“The Message” lives on—it even turned up in the 2006 kids’ movie Happy Feet.
DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
365 Is My Number
King Sunny Adé & His African Beats (1982)
African audiences had been under the spell of King Sunny Adé for well over a
decade, but it wasn’t until Island Records boss Chris Blackwell signed him to his
fledgling world music imprint, Mango, in 1982, that his music went global.
Recorded in Togo and mixed in London, “365 Is My Number/The Message”
is a polymorphic mix of traditional Nigerian Yoruba praise song, calypso reggae
riffs, instrumental surf-guitar strums, and African electric funk. While the litany
of “talking” drums, congas, bongos, and weirdly tuned electric guitars give “365
Is My Number” its magnetism, it is producer Martin Meissonnier’s deft, dub-
wise integration of “synchro” synthesizers that makes the instrumental “The
Message” so inviting for Western ears. Not that Adé actually panders to any
Western pop clichés. Instead, he caricatures them with burlesque Hawaiian slide
guitar licks and Spanish-tinged chords, undercut by a deep-rooted authenticity.
The Yoruba lyrics and polyrhythmic complexity was not a formula for
mainstream chart success, however. Ultimately, Adé proved too experimental to
live up to Island Records’ desire to bill him as “the African Bob Marley.”
However, “365 Is My Number/The Message” did manage to achieve a
Hollywood footnote on the soundtrack to Jim McBride’s 1983 remake of
Breathless, starring Richard Gere. MK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I don’t write songs for heterosexuals and I don’t write songs for
homosexuals. I just write songs for everyone.”
Boy George, 1983
Electric Avenue
Eddy Grant (1982)
“Eurythmics weren’t selling any records to speak of,” Dave Stewart told NME.
“The Tourists were long split up; and then me and Annie [Lennox] split. Yet we
were still going around with the same hopes.”
“We had been so stitched up when we started out as The Tourists in ’78,”
Lennox told Smash Hits, “and even as Eurythmics at the beginning, we just had
to take things into our own hands. That line in ‘Sweet Dreams’ about being
‘used and abused’ refers directly to my own experiences. Not just in love, but in
this business too.”
Their first smash fitted the vogue for soulful vocals atop electronic backings.
The Eurythmics, however, added twists. “Things that you think are sequencers
are real,” Stewart told Performing Songwriter. “Like Annie and I playing milk
bottles on ‘Sweet Dreams.’” A memorable video was, Stewart assured Q,
“inspired by the Luis Buñuel movie L’Âge d’or.” “It was all about absurdity and
how the world is absurd,” he elaborated to Artists House Music, “and yet we’re
singing ‘Sweet dreams are made of this.’ It’s an ironic statement.”
The song has been sampled by acts from Britney Spears to 50 Cent, and
covered by multitudes from Bebel Gilberto to Marilyn Manson. “In a single
lyric,” Manson wrote, “it summed up . . . the mentality of nearly everyone I had
met since forming the band: ‘Some of them want to abuse you / Some of them
want to be abused.’” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Atomic Dog
George Clinton (1982)
Wigged out Parliament/Funkadelic front man George Clinton dissolved the two
groups at the dawn of the 1980s and signed as a solo artist to Capitol. But his
debut recordings featured P-Funk alumni in sprawling jams.
At one session, a druggily paranoid Clinton believed the engineers were
cutting tracks without him. They were only experimenting but, having burst into
the studio, Clinton was determined to lay a vocal over their weird backward
drum track. Ad libbing a canine theme, to find the right key, Clinton laid down
lyrics that influenced a generation of rappers. Then a forward-running drum
track was mixed on top of the backward one, keyboardist Bernie Worrell added a
funky melody, and a whomping track that was to be sampled over eighty times
was born. Ice Cube alone has used it seven times, while Clinton himself is said
to have been in Dr. Dre’s studio when Snoop Doggy Dogg’s homage “Who Am
I (What’s My Name)?” was created.
“Atomic Dog” has been used in a bewildering range of movies and TV
shows, from The Wire and Menace II Society to Rugrats Go Wild. As Clinton
told National Public Radio in 2006: “I like being silly because the kids are the
only ones who relate to it for a minute. And then you go to another age bracket,
and they relate to it for a minute, then it’s too old for anybody.” DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
State of Independence
Donna Summer (1982)
Michael Jackson? Seventies prog rockers? Brian Eno? Only one song ticks all
three boxes.
It originated on The Friends of Mr. Cairo, a 1981 collaboration between Yes
singer Jon Anderson and keyboard maestro Vangelis (who had been mooted to
join Yes in 1974). Yet it was cherry-picked by super-producer Quincy Jones for
Donna Summer’s follow-up to her first post-disco success The Wanderer. (The
intended follow-up—a gospel set called I’m a Rainbow—was rejected by
Geffen, who paired her with Jones.) “It’s a song that really expresses what I’ve
been feeling lately,” Summer declared. “It’s got an optimism and sense of
purpose that is based in reality.”
Jones stuck closely to the original song’s arrangement, but he gave it a lush,
stirring production. His premier client, Michael Jackson, was among guests in an
“all star choir” that also featured Dionne Warwick, Michael McDonald, Lionel
Richie, and Brenda Russell (the woman responsible for 1988’s “Piano in the
Dark” and Summer’s 1987 single “Dinner with Gershwin”). “When Quincy
calls,” Summer observed, “people drop what they’re doing.”
Another noted guest, Stevie Wonder, even contributed sleeve notes for the
song: “Just as all creation is one with the universe, may we too be one with each
other.” Jones later credited this gathering as an inspiration for “We Are the
World.”
At the time of release, “State of Independence” met a more muted reception
than the album’s first single, the effervescent “Love Is in Control (Finger on the
Trigger).” Today, however, it is widely celebrated—not least by producer and
musician Brian Eno, who describes it as “one of the high points of twentieth
century art.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Save a Prayer
Duran Duran (1982)
Candy Girl
New Edition (1982)
Mad World
Tears for Fears (1982)
“It’s very much a voyeur’s song. It’s looking out at a mad world from
the eyes of a teenager.”
Curt Smith, 2004
Black Metal
Venom (1982)
Writer | Anthony Bray, Jeffrey Dunn, Conrad Lant Producer | Keith Nichol,
Venom
Label | Neat
Album | Black Metal (1982)
Shipbuilding
Robert Wyatt (1982)
In April 1982, Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher told the press to “rejoice” in
news that British forces had taken control of the Atlantic island of South
Georgia. But not everyone regarded the Falklands conflict as something to
celebrate.
Many artists used their music to channel anger at what they saw as a war
manufactured to distract attention from domestic hardship, but it took one of the
generation’s best wordsmiths to drive home the high price of the campaign—
with lines that were alternately searing and sublime. Clive Langer wrote the
jazz-flecked track—but his lyrics, he admitted, were “crap.” He played it to
Elvis Costello, who seized on “this ironic notion that we might be building ships
to send the children of the ship workers to be killed senselessly.”
On his demo, Langer had attempted an impersonation of Soft Machine
drummer turned solo artist Robert Wyatt. The real thing was duly persuaded to
cut the song—bestowing lines like “Diving for dear life / When we could be
diving for pearls” with a perfect, plaintive hopelessness.
Both Langer and Costello came to regard their contributions as highlights of
their careers. In May 1983, a re-release took the song to No. 35 in the United
Kingdom. Less than a month later, however, a wave of nationalistic fervor took
the Conservative Party to the biggest election victory for almost forty years. CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I don’t like the word nostalgic; to me, it’s a sloppy yearning for the
past.”
Grant McLennan, 1983
Uncertain Smile
The The (1982)
Valley Girl
Frank Zappa (1982)
“Anybody who knows the whole story behind that song could not
possibly be offended by it.”
Moon Unit Zappa, 1982
Thriller
Michael Jackson (1982)
From an album of superlatives and firsts, the mock horror of Thriller’s title track
was an odd fit alongside the innovation of “Billie Jean” and “Beat It.” Yet
“Thriller” became one of Michael Jackson’s signature songs, thanks to its
groundbreaking video—a fourteen-minute zombie parody directed by John
Landis (An American Werewolf in London).
The song’s marriage of a catchy hook with kitschy effects was sealed with a
rap from horror movie veteran Vincent Price. “I’ve known Vincent ever since I
was eleven years old . . .” Jackson told Smash Hits. “Béla Lugosi and Peter
Lorre are dead now and the only giant who goes back to those days is Vincent
Price. So I thought he was the perfect voice.”
Landis’s mini-epic, with its much-emulated zombie dance, claimed the
Guinness World Record for being the most successful music video ever.
“Thriller” was the first such clip to have a narrative, a Hollywood director, a
budget of over half a million dollars, and a theatrical release.
To meet demand, MTV played it twice an hour, making Jackson one of the
first black artists on the channel. Sales of the album tripled thanks to the video,
and it was then released as a home video, with an accompanying documentary,
to cover costs. In more ways than one, “Thriller” changed the music industry
forever. GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | Peter Gabriel Producer | Peter Gabriel, David Lord Label | Charisma
Album | Peter Gabriel (1982)
“Most people saw that as a sort of animal rights song,” conceded Peter Gabriel,
“but it wasn’t.” Gabriel’s oblique lyrics had long been open to interpretation. His
last album with Genesis, The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, released in 1974,
barely made sense even with its story on the sleeve. His first solo hit, “Solsbury
Hill,” was a metaphor for being inspired to leave Genesis, while “Games
Without Frontiers” (1980) owed its popularity more to a whistle-along hook than
its anti-nationalistic lyrics.
“Shock the Monkey” was also interpreted as a reference to experiments by
psychologist Stanley Milgram, obliging Gabriel to explain to Stinkzone: “[It]
was more about jealousy than Milgram’s experiments. . . . ‘Shock the Monkey’
was only connected to Milgram through the title reference.”
But the message was arguably less important than the music. On his fourth
self-titled solo album (known as Security in the U.S.), Gabriel gave full reign to
the claustrophobic rhythms that fueled the highlights of 1980’s Peter Gabriel.
“Shock the Monkey” added a dollop of funk to the formula (plus backing vocals
by Van der Graaf Generator’s Peter Hammill). It earned Gabriel his biggest U.S.
hit to that point, and set the scene for another cocktail of rhythm and sex—the
globe-conquering “Sledgehammer,” released in 1986. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
British group The Beat were never satisfied with being just another ska band.
They scored hits with songs that infused their 2-Tone sound with paranoia
(“Mirror in the Bathroom”), politics (“Stand Down Margaret”), and pop
standards (Smokey Robinson’s “The Tears of a Clown,” Andy Williams’s
“Can’t Get Used to Losing You”).
There was little that was recognizably 2-Tone about the first single from the
group’s final album, Special Beat Service. A lilting slice of urbane pop, given
extra shine by deft strings and brass, “Save it for Later” swapped their usual
buoyant bonhomie for affecting melancholy. While a mature wisdom colors
Dave Wakeling’s lyrics, he had penned the song as a teenager, before the group
formed. He sensed life was about to get complicated, and that the adults offering
him advice didn’t necessarily know any better than he did. “It was like, keep
your advice to yourself,” he explained to Songfacts. “Save it, for later.”
Wakeling admitted the title was also a teenager’s dirty joke: a pun on “fellator.”
“I didn’t know,” he admitted, “it was going to be a joke that lasted for thirty
years.”
The song’s aching sense of adolescent confusion struck a chord with The
Who’s Pete Townshend. His performance of it was the highlight of his 1986 live
album, Deep End Live!—after he phoned Wakeling to learn the song’s
idiosyncratic tuning. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
While AC/DC and INXS hit the headlines, another Australian act enjoyed more
low-key success—and produced one of the nation’s best-loved anthems.
Icehouse were the brainchild of Iva Davies, an Iggy Pop fan with a Bryan
Ferry-esque voice and pre-Duran Duran good looks. After the multi-platinum
success of 1980’s Icehouse, Davies began the follow-up in a home studio full of
technology and artwork that became the Primitive Man cover.
“This piece of art, for me, has had a strangely simplistic, naive, and yet
sophisticated quality . . .” he declared. “It could have been the work of artists
thousands—indeed hundreds of thousands—of years apart in history, and this
led me to question whether anything had really changed at all during that time.
The first song I wrote in this room was ‘Great Southern Land’ and it was from
this song that I drew the title Primitive Man.”
Davies’s then-manager had urged him to “write me an epic” and “Great
Southern Land” duly evoked Australia’s historical and mythical heritage—a tale
told by “the motion of the wind in the mountains.” The song soared into the
country’s Top Five, and has remained a favorite.
Davies continued to experiment with epic songs, notably on Code Blue
(1990), apparently finding it easier to express himself in song than in
conversation. As he observed, “There’s no point in talking about a song. You’ve
gotta listen to it.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Party Fears II
The Associates (1982)
“I don’t think of our songs as being unusual but I suppose they are.”
Billy Mackenzie, 1982
Situation
Yazoo (1982)
“I love Yazoo . . . the only record that’s stirred any emotion in me for
the last ten years.”
Boy George, 1982
“It’s such a groove. Long live groove. Screw the rest of it.”
Joe Strummer, 1988
Buffalo Gals
Malcolm McLaren (1982)
A New England
Billy Bragg (1983)
He may have lifted the first lines from Simon and Garfunkel and the melody
from Thin Lizzy, but Billy Bragg set out his stall in convincing style with this
early gem.
A plaintive love song, it also has a political context. “When I say I don’t
want to change the world, I mean it,” he explained. “But just because you don’t
want to change the entire system doesn’t mean you should close your eyes to
everything.” The lyrics feature his trademark observations of British life (“All
the girls I loved at school are already pushing prams”), wry wit, and an ability to
find the poetic in the prosaic (“I saw two shooting stars last night / I wished on
them, but they were only satellites”).
Musically, it has the classic Bragg formula of man and guitar. At two
minutes fourteen, it is short and snappy, testament to his formative days in the
(rightly) forgotten punk band Riff Raff. A stint in the army had focused his mind
and Life’s a Riot with Spy vs Spy was the result.
The mini-album reached No. 1 in the U.K. indie chart and featured in
influential DJ John Peel’s Christmas countdown of listeners’ favorites from the
past year. Kirsty MacColl had a U.K hit with her 1985 version, for which Bragg
penned an extra verse. “‘A New England’ was like having access to an
unreleased Beatles song or something,” she enthused. “A real pressie!” EB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Violent Femmes’ debut peaked at No. 171, produced no hits, and featured songs
written while founding member Gordon Gano was still in high school. All of
that, combined with ten smoking tracks, made Violent Femmes the stuff of
legends.
It started with “Blister in the Sun,” which showcased everything that made
this band and album so wonderful. The song twitched with teen angst, beginning
with Brian Ritchie’s addictive acoustic bass and Victor DeLorenzo’s slamming
brushwork on his single-tom kit. Then Gano joined in, adding nervy electric
guitar and a conflicted coming-of-age story that was more Revenge of the Nerds
than Catcher in the Rye. The lyrics, whispered near the song’s end, tell of sexual
frustration, a crappy relationship, and masturbation—no wonder so many were
able to identify.
Milwaukee’s finest pursued similar topics on the album’s other nine tracks—
and the results were nearly as good. As a whole, Violent Femmes was a pivotal
moment in indie rock history and ranks as one of the all-time great debuts.
“Blister in the Sun” has never gone out of rotation on college campuses,
handed down from one disenfranchised student to another. Add in its use in
movies such as Grosse Point Blank and the track became as well known as many
1980s hits. Its popularity pushed Violent Femmes to platinum status, nearly eight
years after its release. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Let’s Dance
David Bowie (1983)
“I’d heard ‘Walk Out to Winter’ (by Aztec Camera) on Radio 1, and I
felt a little jealous. My competitive urges kicked in.”
Johnny Marr, 2008
Relax
Frankie Goes to Hollywood (1983)
“We used to pretend it was about motivation, and really it was about
shagging.”
Mark O’Toole, 1984
Everything Counts
Depeche Mode (1983)
Dear Prudence
Siouxsie & The Banshees (1983)
Writer | John Lennon, Paul McCartney Producer | Mike Hedges, Siouxsie &
The Banshees Label | Wonderland
Album | N/A
In their punk days, Siouxsie & The Banshees unleashed a full-throttle version of
“Helter Skelter” on their debut The Scream. But a second Beatles cover gave
them their biggest hit.
Written by John Lennon (though credited to Lennon and McCartney), “Dear
Prudence” appeared on The Beatles, commonly known as The White Album.
After touring Scandinavia, listening incessantly to Liverpool’s finest, The
Banshees reimagined “Dear Prudence” for a one-off single. “There weren’t any
new Banshees songs written . . .” admitted bassist Steve Severin, “and we
wanted Robert [Smith, moonlighting from The Cure] to be playing on a new
single.” Drummer Budgie added that their other choice, “Glass Onion,” lost to
“Dear Prudence” because “it was the only song that Robert was familiar with.”
Although The Banshees’ take remains faithful to the original, Smith’s
psychedelic guitar and Siouxsie’s upbeat vocal elevate its mood from
melancholy to celebratory. On the Christmas edition of British music show Top
of the Pops, Smith appeared with both “Dear Prudence” and The Cure’s “The
Love Cats.”
“People seem to think that all we had to do was cover ‘Dear Prudence’ and
we’d have a hit,” protested Severin. “Nothing’s ever that simple. It’s because of
the way we did it, the way we recorded it, that it was successful.” BC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Leather jumpsuits, rhinestones, and furs were the look and funky disco the sound
in the early days of rap. Then Run-DMC dropped their debut single and changed
the face of hip-hop forever.
“It’s Like That” set the tone for all that was to come. Against hard drums,
Joseph “Run” Simmons and Darryl “DMC” McDaniels despaired of the ills of
the world. Run—DJ and sideman for rap pioneer Kurtis Blow—had been paid
$100 to write a rhyme for Blow by superproducer Larry Smith. But when Smith
created a sparse beat, Run persuaded his older brother Russell—Kurtis Blow’s
promoter, and co-founder of rap’s über-label Def Jam—to let him cut a demo.
Russell insisted that his younger brother finish high school first, but that $100
rhyme formed half of “It’s Like That.” “I wanted some help . . .” Run told The
Face. “I went to D and . . . he came up with some important hooks and plugged
up gaps in a few verses.”
Throughout the song, Run and DMC alternate lines and finish each other’s
sentences, creating an energy and unity that lasted almost two decades.
In 1997, a remix by house music producer Jason Nevins introduced “It’s
Like That” to a new generation, as the track catapulted to No. 1 in the United
Kingdom, Australia, and across Europe. “We don’t do house at all . . .” DMC
told Stealth Magazine. “But, when we heard it, we thought it was a good
record.” DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Rock of Ages
Def Leppard (1983)
Writer | Steve Clark, Robert John “Mutt” Lange, Joe Elliott, Rick Savage, Pete
Willis, Rick Allen
Producer | Robert John “Mutt” Lange
Label | Vertigo
Album | Pyromania (1983)
“We’d always gone for the big hooks. We got some down pretty much
on the Pyromania album.”
Joe Elliott, 1989
Influenced by: My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) • Neil Young
(1979)
Influence on: Pretty Fly (for a White Guy) • The Offspring (1998)
Covered by: Kelly Hansen (2000)
Other key track: Animal (1987)
All but ignored in their homeland until 1986, Brit bashers Def Leppard
conquered the United States in 1983 with Pyromania—thanks in no small part to
the extraordinary, lush production of “Mutt” Lange. The album was duly kept
off the top of the chart only by Thriller.
“We ended up,” singer Joe Elliott told Mojo, “doing the backing vocals
before we put the guitars down—to a bass! And we layered them so much, they
were like a football crowd. . . . One hundred and seventy-six voices singing
‘Rock of Ages.’ We’d come out of there not being able to talk, never mind sing.”
Although “Photograph” was the biggest hit off Pyromania, “Rock of Ages”
was indicative of Leppard’s knack for huge choruses, monster riffs, and
endearingly dopey lyrics. The song’s title was inspired by the hymn “Rock of
Ages,” but the seriousness ended there. Indeed, its Teutonic introduction is just
gibberish improvised by Lange, who had tired of counting the band in with “one,
two, three, four.”
“‘Rock of Ages’ is a parody actually . . .” Elliott admitted. “It’s making fun
out of every anthem that’s ever been written. We even rechristened it ‘Another
One Bites the Stroke by Joan Jett’s Rainbow.’ . . . We wanted a bit of light relief
on the album. It’s kind of kindergarten stuff, but it fits the song, and it’s good
fun.”
Two keyboard players enhanced the sound: Thomas Dolby (“I didn’t really
want to get tarred with the heavy metal brush,” he told The Quietus, hence his
pseudonym Booker T. Boffin) and Tony Kaye of Yes. “I was doubling the guitar
parts . . .” Kaye told yesfans.com, “so you ended up with this great wall of
sound.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I kind of enjoy the oddball attitude that is thrust on us. It keeps ’em
guessing.”
Billy Gibbons, 1984
Writer | Sting
Producer | Hugh Padgham, The Police Label | A&M
Album | Synchronicity (1983)
“It’s a nasty little song,” Police chief Sting admitted to NME. “Really rather evil.
It’s about jealousy and surveillance and ownership.”
Sting wrote the track on a piano, at James Bond author Ian Fleming’s estate
in Jamaica. “I knew it was the biggest hit we’d ever have . . .” he told the BBC,
“despite the cries from the other members of the band that it was simplistic.”
Indeed, the song became a sticking point in the Synchronicity sessions. “We
knew we had a killer song,” guitarist Andy Summers remarked to Billboard’s
Craig Rosen, “and we didn’t want to fuck it up.”
“Stewart [Copeland, drummer] would say, ‘I want to fucking put my drum
part on it!’” producer Hugh Padgham told Sound on Sound, “and Sting would
say, ‘I don’t want you to put your fucking drum part on it! I want you to put
what I want you to put on it!’ and it would go on like that.”
Summers added a guitar figure inspired by classical composer Béla Bartók.
“My guitar completely made it classic and put the modern edge on it,” he
bragged to Record Collector.
Misinterpreted as romantic, “Every Breath You Take” became one of the
most played songs on U.S. radio. “The twist is there’s no escape,” Sting told Q
in 1999. “It’s circular: this guy is trapped and enjoying it. . . . If I wrote it now, I
think I would make it move on—break the guy out of the cycle he’s in.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
99 Luftballons
Nena (1983)
Nuclear paranoia was rife in the early 1980s and Germany was particularly
sensitive to the mood, with the dissected city of Berlin on the frontline for World
War III.
Into this unhappy stew came Nena’s era-defining “99 Luftballons,” a
deceptively chirpy synth-pop take on nuclear annihilation. The premise is
simple: ninety-nine balloons are released into the German sky and mistaken for
UFOs by nervy generals, who push the button that calls down apocalypse.
Nena were named after their singer, Gabriele “Nena” Kerner, whose husky
vocals pushed the song to No. 1 in Germany in 1983. Sniffing success, the
band’s manager suggested an English-language version, and British musician
Kevin McAlea—an associate of Kate Bush—was approached to translate the
lyrics.
The English version, renamed “99 Red Balloons,” and released in 1984,
reached No. 1 in the U.K. Both versions were played by U.S. radio—and,
unpredictably, it was the German one that the American public took to, driving it
to No. 2.
In content and style the song is emblematic of the 1980s and has featured on
decade-aping movie soundtracks such as Grosse Point Blank. It has been sung
(impressively, in the original German) by Homer Simpson, and referred to in
Scrubs and the Grand Theft Auto game. PW
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Zungguzungguguzungguzeng
Yellowman (1983)
Funk overlords James Brown and George Clinton are often cited as the most-
sampled artists. It’s likely that early Eighties reggae records could compete, if
the baffling array of releases on different labels didn’t make keeping track so
hard.
“Zungguzungguguzungguzeng” is a prime example. The albino Yellowman
was among the MCs who rose to represent Jamaica after Bob Marley’s passing
—a new breed for whom commercial potential had the edge over Rasta
philosophy. He batted aside prejudice against his complexion and sleazy lyrics to
become one of the biggest MCs in dancehall.
“Zungguzungguguzungguzeng” (a reference to Jamaica’s emergency
number) first appeared in 1982, as “Zungguzuzeng,” on the Volcano label.
Volcano’s mastermind was the song’s producer Henry “Junjo” Lawes, often
credited with popularizing dancehall. The track itself hit the mainstream when
Greensleeves issued it in 1983, and reggae and hip-hop acts began to loot both
the melody and the bass and drums “riddim.”
Few, however, rivaled the smiling sensation that was
“Zungguzungguguzungguzeng” itself, with its injunction to “Jump fe happiness
and jump fe joy,” and cheeky references to the “First Lady of dancehall,” Lady
Ann. Indeed, Yellowman remained positive even after cancer ravaged his jaw—
a setback that he ultimately conquered. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Blue Monday
New Order (1983)
“The idea,” claimed singer and guitarist Bernard Sumner, “was that I’d come
back onstage, press the play button, let all the sequencers and computers play
‘Blue Monday’ as an encore, and fuck off.” New Order had spent their first three
years running from the gloom of their previous incarnation, Joy Division. Now
they were setting their sights on New York dance floors rather than Manchester
wastelands.
Their passport to paradise came from a messy synth-jam, “Prime 5-8-6” (a
more polished version of which is on 1983’s Power, Corruption and Lies), nods
to Sylvester’s “You Make Me Feel (Mighty Real)” and obscure Italo-disco
artists Klein+MBO, an eerie choir sample from Kraftwerk’s “Uranium,” and an
outright steal from Donna Summer’s “Our Love.” Typically, accident played a
part. Painstakingly programmed drums were wiped when drummer Stephen
Morris tripped over a power cable, while the offbeat melody is reportedly due to
keyboard player Gillian Gilbert starting the sequencer at the wrong time.
Peter Saville’s iconic, floppy disc sleeve was so costly that, once sales went
stratospheric, the Factory label actually lost money. A disastrous live appearance
on the BBC’s Top of the Pops stalled the single’s climb, but the hypnotic
classic’s influence was cemented: “Blue Monday” presaged the worldwide
explosion of dance music. MB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
The Trooper
Iron Maiden (1983)
Two Tribes
Frankie Goes to Hollywood (1984)
“An American funk line and a Russian line. It’s the most obvious
demonstration of two tribes that we have today.”
Holly Johnson, 1984
Runaway
Bon Jovi (1984)
“If you see this song down at the beach, buy it a drink—it’s finally old
enough.”
Jon Bon Jovi, 2003
World Destruction
Time Zone (1984)
Joe Elliott or John Lydon? Amazingly, Def Leppard’s front man was Afrika
Bambaataa’s first choice as guest vocalist for the second single by his and
producer Bill Laswell’s Time Zone project.
Bambaataa’s lyrics ranged from Islam toppling the world’s superpowers to a
nuclear nightmare: territory more suited, surely, to someone who made
“Anarchy in the U.K.” rather than “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop).” Laswell duly
suggested Public Image Ltd’s Lydon, who fitted Bambaataa’s request for
“somebody that’s really wild.”
Lydon spent only a few hours working on the song, but that was enough to
leave his inimitable stamp; his vocals contrasted perfectly with Bambaataa and
gave the track a deranged edge that suited the subject matter. He also recorded a
version whose frank judgments on Her Majesty The Queen meant it has never
been released.
The single made more of a mark in clubs than on charts. An influential blend
of rock and hip-hop, “World Destruction” was also crucial in bringing Lydon
and Laswell together—a union that spurred a renaissance for Public Image Ltd.
The song also found its way into The Sopranos. “That episode . . . was
written the week of September 11,” Sopranos creator David Chase told NJ.com
in 2006. “Very presciently . . . there’s this line: ‘The Democratic-Communist
relationship won’t stand in the way of the Islamic force.’” CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Immigrés/Bitim Rew
Youssou N’Dour (1984)
It’s My Life
Talk Talk (1984)
After dropping out of studying child psychology, Mark Hollis played with new
wave band The Reaction. Following their demise, his brother introduced Hollis
to Simon Brenner, Lee Harris, and Paul Webb—and, in 1981, Talk Talk were
born.
By 1984, Brenner had been replaced by long-term collaborator Tim Friese-
Greene. “It’s My Life,” the first fruit of this new partnership, was a hook-laden
slice of synth-pop, underlined by Webb’s funky bass and Hollis’s doleful voice.
The song did well across Europe, and entered the U.S. Top Forty.
The accompanying video mocked the concept of lip-syncing. Shots of Hollis
at London Zoo with his mouth obscured were interspersed with footage from
nature documentaries. Appalled, EMI demanded that it be reshot. The group
were duly filmed with cheesy grins and comic miming. This reluctance to toe the
industry line later manifested itself in increasingly uncommercial albums,
culminating in 1991’s Laughing Stock.
In the meantime, “It’s My Life” became a staple in clubs and finally made a
splash in Talk Talk’s home country on its third re-release in 1990 (after a second
attempt in 1985) to promote Natural History: the Very Best of Talk Talk. Then,
in 2003, a version by No Doubt, fronted by Gwen Stefani, became an
international hit. Thanks to the cover, the reclusive Hollis earned a Broadcast
Music Incorporated songwriting award. CS
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Smooth Operator
Sade (1984)
With a voice like melted chocolate, Sade Adu sashayed onto the Eighties music
scene to no little acclaim, being duly rewarded with a Grammy for Best New
Artist and a Brit award for Best Album. “We were picked up on because we
were different from anything else that was going on at that time,” she told Q.
The band, which took the name of their front woman, featured Stuart
Matthewman (sax and guitar), Andrew Hale (keyboards), and Paul Denman
(bass). The missing member was guitarist Ray Saint John, who had co-written
“Smooth Operator” with Adu two years earlier.
A blend of cool vocals—delivered in a breathy, Monroe-esque style—with
jazzy saxophones and poppy bongo beats, “Smooth Operator” was Diamond
Life’s fourth and final single. It spent ten weeks in the U.K. chart and broke the
band in the United States.
Despite the media’s pigeon-holing, Adu fought to adhere to the style she
envisaged for the band, and disliked the labels frequently applied to their sound.
“Our music is clearly pop, because it’s easy to understand,” she grumbled to
Melody Maker. “All the songs I’ve ever loved—even jazz stuff—are things that
tell a story.”
“Smooth Operator,” meanwhile, has become shorthand for love ’em and
leave ’em guys who are too cool to call. SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | Prince
Producer | Arif Mardin
Label | Warner Bros.
Album | I Feel for You (1984)
Chaka Khan was under pressure. Her self-titled 1982 album had gone gold, and
“Ain’t Nobody,” released in 1983, had become a classic. Could she cut a fitting
follow-up? Most definitely: “I Feel for You”—a cover of Prince’s 1979 original
—heralded the fusion of R&B with rap, and won Khan her second solo
Grammy.
Producer Arif Mardin—the man behind the Bee Gees’ equally pioneering
“Jive Talkin’,” and Khan’s “I’m Every Woman”—inadvertently created the
stuttering rap by Melle Mel (a colleague of arranger Reggie Griffin, from hip-
hop label Sugar Hill). Mardin’s hand slipped on the sampler, hence the
distinctive repetition of “Chaka Khan.” He had intended to fit her name to the
percussion, so the error paid off.
However, when she heard lines like “Let me rock you, Chaka Khan / Let me
rock you, that’s all I wanna do,” the star was mortified. “I thought ‘Oh God . . .
how am I going to live this down?’” she told Rolling Stone. “Every time a guy
walks up to me on the street, I think he’s going to break into that rap. And most
of them do.”
Nonetheless, the cocktail of Khan’s expressive voice, Mel’s ear-catching rap,
samples from Stevie Wonder’s “Fingertips Part 2,” and Wonder himself playing
harmonica proved a gold-selling U.S. and U.K. hit, reaching No. 1 in the U.K.
singles chart and No. 3 on the Billboard Hot 100. Prince repaid the compliment
by contributing songs to Khan’s 1988 CK album and, later, performing her
arrangement of “I Feel for You” live. (Khan also covered Prince’s “Sign o’ the
Times” in 2007.)
“I look at that,” Mardin later told Performing Songwriter, “as one of the
songs I’d like to take with me to a desert island.” GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I knew I had something there. I said, ‘This is good and I know it’s
good.’ It’s great.”
Don Henley, 1986
The Scorpions existed far beyond parody. As if titles like “Rock You Like a
Hurricane” weren’t enough of a clue, drummer and co-writer Herman Rarebell’s
1986 solo album was titled Herman ze German and Friends.
Helmed by singer Klaus Meine and guitarist Rudy Schenker (brother of
Michael, a sometime Scorpion), the band won footholds in Europe and Japan in
the 1970s. By early 1984—with Rarebell, bassist Francis Buchholz, and guitarist
Matthias Jabs—they had struck gold (and platinum) in the United States with
Blackout.
This enviable evolution, coupled with a formidable live reputation, made
Love at First Sting a dead cert. Its fortunes were hardly hampered by one of the
Eighties metal anthems—“Rock You Like a Hurricane.” The hit was helped by
an entertainingly ludicrous video that aroused the ire of music censors the
Parents Music Resource Center.
“We don’t go looking for hit singles . . .” Meine told Circus. “We want good
songs and it’s got to stay rough. . . . It’s important that it rocks, that it’s wild and
that fans can see it in concert. We’re not looking for something American radio
will play.” Nonetheless, they wound up with an anthem that was as suited for the
airwaves as it was for arena shows and sports events—and which has lost none
of its power in the past quarter-century. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Plateau
Meat Puppets (1984)
They toured with Black Flag and recorded for the pioneering punk label SST,
but the Meat Puppets were never really a hardcore band. Arizona kids raised on
drugs and classic rock, their early shows were riotous, with the trio covering The
Grateful Dead and Neil Young between their own haywire thrash. Their second
album replaced full-pelt hurtle with sun-damaged psychedelic country, steeped
in classic songwriting but still brilliantly unique. “Plateau” crystallized this new
sound: Curt Kirkwood’s woozy drawl murmuring mystical riddles over a tangle
of acoustic guitars and muted drums.
The hardcore kids didn’t “get” Meat Puppets II, but Rolling Stone raved
about it. And while the band never broke through to the mainstream, Kurt
Cobain invited Curt and his brother Cris to Nirvana’s Unplugged session, from
which covers of three of their songs (including “Plateau”) introduced the band to
a new generation.
“I guess they liked our stuff ’cos we took a step away from formulaic
hardcore in the early Eighties but still had the attitude,” Kirkwood told Mojo.
“Also, both Kurt and I have that high and lonesome country thing in our voices. .
. . It was clear that we were on the same trip—Kurt wanted to extend the end
part of ‘Plateau’ for half an hour, and I’d written that song to be cyclical, so you
could just space out.” SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Tenderness
General Public (1984)
“There was a darker side to the song, because it came out in that
period of AIDS.”
Dave Wakeling, 2008
Influenced by: Don’t Stop ’til You Get Enough Michael Jackson
(1979)
Influence on: I Feel for You • Chaka Khan (1984)
Covered by: Audio Thieves (2006)
Other key tracks: The Sweetest Girl (1981) • Hypnotize (1985) •
Perfect Way (1985)
From the dubby romanticism of Scritti Politti’s early work, “Wood Beez” was a
headlong dive into blue-eyed funk. Front man Green Gartside had jettisoned the
original line-up, switched labels, and honed in on pure pop. The result? A fluid
groove that pressed hip buttons while maintaining a commercial veneer. As he
foretold in 1982: “There’s absolutely no point in making music, no point in
having a bash at pop, and theorizing about it, without actually having popular
records.”
Gartside had rarely written a song without a philosophical tract to go with it,
but “Wood Beez” spoke plainly. It ticked the classic soul box with its title, had a
customary dabble with words (“There’s nothing I wouldn’t take / Oh, even
intravenous”) and generally expressed unconditional love.
“Aretha was singing what are arguably inane pop songs and had left her
gospel roots,” Gartside explained to NME. “But she sang them with a fervor, a
passion. . . . Hearing her was as near to a hymn or a prayer as I could get.”
The song’s power lay in Gartside’s honeyed vocal and the assured playing of
his new cohorts, New Yorkers Fred Maher and David Gamson. Arif Mardin’s
impeccable production was the icing upon the sweetest of cakes.
“Wood Beez” more than held its own with the smart R&B coming out of
America at the time—even its cutesy title matched Prince’s language larks—and
introduced Gartside to circles he thought beyond him. Within three years, he
would work with Chaka Khan and Al Jarreau, feature on Madonna’s Who’s That
Girl soundtrack, and entice Miles Davis to guest on “Oh Patti (Don’t Feel Sorry
for Loverboy),” released in 1988. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
I Will Dare
The Replacements (1984)
Unlike their peers, The Replacements never had high-art pretensions. Instead,
they crafted wry pop rock that addressed their audience’s key concern: how to
survive adolescence.
“I Will Dare,” which opened their third album, was a tender take on a
perennial teen concern—the first days of a new romance. Westerberg imagined
the fumbling questions asked by the couple, capturing the worry of a lover
waiting for a call. Underneath that anxiety, though, lay hope, with Westerberg
pledging, “If you will dare, I will dare.”
The promise of new love was accompanied by a new sound. The group
stopped ripping off the New York Dolls, and looked to their heroes Big Star for
inspiration. Westerberg played that most un-punk of instruments, the mandolin,
while R.E.M.’s Peter Buck played a Byrdsy guitar solo.
The jangling masterpiece spoke to the college rock crowd, and inspired
Westerberg wannabes like the Goo Goo Dolls. “I remember the first time I heard
it,” recalled Replacements manager Peter Jesperson, “thinking, ‘Oh my God,
we’re gonna be rich.’” But while their heirs made big bucks, the band dissolved
in a mess of pills and booze, earning little from their pioneering efforts.
Westerberg would later note that the title of their breakthrough song could
have served as The Replacements’ slogan: “We’ll dare to flop,” he said. “We’ll
dare to do anything.” TB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | Johnny Marr, Morrissey Producer | John Porter Label | Rough Trade
Album | N/A
“I wanted an intro that was almost as potent as ‘Layla’,” Johnny Marr told
Guitar Player in 1990. “When it plays in a club or a pub, everyone knows what
it is.” Boy, did he deliver! “How Soon Is Now?” is a triumph, thanks to Marr’s
genius layering of sliding and oscillating vibrato guitar, Mike Joyce and Andy
Rourke’s tight rhythm section, and Morrissey’s defiantly anti-pop lyrics.
It all started, said Marr, by trying to create “a stomping groove” like the
Seventies hits “Disco Stomp” by Hamilton Bohannon and “New York Groove”
by Hello. “I suddenly got the riff,” he told the Guardian. “It all came together . .
. When Morrissey first sang, ‘I am the son / And the heir,’ John Porter went, ‘Ah
great, the elements!’ Morrissey continued, ‘Of a shyness that is criminally
vulgar.’ I knew he’d hit the bull’s-eye there and then.”
“How Soon is Now?” appeared on the B-side of “William, It Was Really
Nothing,” then on the 1984 compilation Hatful of Hollow. Fans loved the seven-
minute masterpiece, but its belated 3.53 minute single release in 1985 peaked at
an unimpressive No. 24 in the United Kingdom. It was hoped the song would
“break” America, but it didn’t even chart there.
Happily, cover versions by the likes of Love Spit Love (whose version
became the theme tune for TV series Charmed) ensure its enduring success. LS
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Rattlesnakes
Lloyd Cole & The Commotions (1984)
Im Nin’ Alu
Ofra Haza (1984)
“I hope a lot more people buy Ofra Haza. Which they should have
done in the first place.”
Jonathan More, Coldcut, 1987
Purple Rain
Prince & The Revolution (1984)
Writer | Prince
Producer | Prince & The Revolution
Label | Warner Bros.
Album | Purple Rain (1984)
“It was so different. It was almost country. It was almost rock. It was
almost gospel.”
Bobby Z, The Revolution, 1999
State of Shock
The Jacksons featuring Mick Jagger (1984)
“I think it could have been much better produced but, you know, I
enjoyed doing it.”
Mick Jagger, 1984
Private Dancer
Tina Turner (1984)
Tina Turner scored classic hits, such as “River Deep—Mountain High,” with her
husband Ike in the Sixties and early Seventies. But it wasn’t until Private
Dancer went multiplatinum that she was propelled to superstardom at the age of
forty-five.
The album’s title track had been destined for Dire Straits’ Love over Gold.
Composer Mark Knopfler recorded the song but felt the lyrics weren’t
appropriate for a male singer and shelved it. However, his manager knew
Turner’s manager, and suggested the song might work for her.
Turner hoped to put her vocals over the Dire Straits recording, but
contractual obstacles obliged her to redo it, with band members John Illsley, Guy
Fletcher, Alan Clark, and Hal Lindes. With Knopfler unable to join them, lead
guitar duties were taken by Jeff Beck. “I asked her to sign my guitar . . .” Beck
recalled. “She suddenly pulls out this flick knife and starts carving her name
—‘T-I-N-A’—across my beautiful guitar!”
The song is a beautifully atmospheric tale of a woman in a gentlemen’s club.
“Someone said, Why did you select ‘Private Dancer’? Is it because you’ve been
a hooker?” Turner recalled. “And I was shocked, because . . . I had done private
parties for the rich people in Dallas, and I called that a private performance. And
private dancing was very close to that type of thing, so I didn’t see her as a
hooker . . . I can be naive about some of these things.” SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Freedom
Wham! (1984)
Fantastic made Wham! one of the biggest bands in their native United Kingdom.
The follow-up to that 1983 debut, however, transformed George Michael and
Andrew Ridgeley into international superstars. Make It Big’s joyous lead single
was “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go,” a worldwide No. 1. “Careless Whisper”
achieved similar results, as did a third, “Freedom.”
Of that trio, “Freedom” best illustrates why Wham! were a big deal. It
sounds like a Motown classic, but feels contemporary. It’s giddy and up-tempo;
yet the lyrics, which place Michael in the role of heartsick lover, are
uncommonly touching. “‘Freedom’ was the least likely to get to No. 1 . . .” he
noted. “I always considered it a bit of a risk but I really wanted us to put it out.”
Michael wrote the song en route to recording in France: “On the way to the
airport, in the taxi, I got the chorus line for ‘Freedom’ and when I got there it
kept going round in my head, so we worked on it and did ‘Freedom’ on the third
day. I loved ‘Freedom’ so much, I thought the ideas I’d had earlier on in the year
just weren’t up to it.”
After the band split in 1986, Michael had few nice things to say about his
time in Wham! Tellingly, however, he recorded a follow-up of sorts, “Freedom
’90,” and used a small bit of the old song—performed on organ—at the start of
the smash “Faith.” JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Long before The Hives and White Stripes resurrected garage rock, Australian
bands tipped a hat to the late Sixties and created a colossally influential scene of
their own. Radio Birdman set the pace, with bands like The Scientists carrying
the gospel overseas. At the same time, The Saints spearheaded Australia’s punk
revolution, with others such as The Victims taking up the challenge.
The Hoodoo Gurus, formed in 1980, took the best of both. Guitarist Dave
Faulkner and drummer James Baker had been in The Victims, responsible for
the classic “Television Addict.” Guitarist Brad Shepherd, who joined in 1981,
had also played alongside Baker, in The Scientists. They originally intended to
simply play covers, but chose to make the most of Faulkner’s writing talents.
Stoneage Romeos was their stunning debut. Lyrically, it acknowledged
everyone from Sky Saxon to the Ramones; yet amid the rambunctious recipe that
blueprinted their career was what sounded like a tender lament.
“I Want You Back” was a jangly slice of pretty power pop. But its tale of a
failed relationship was an analogy, inspired by Shepherd’s predecessor, who co-
founded the band. “When Rod Radalj left the Gurus, he was very dismissive of
us . . .” Faulkner told Harp. “It was me saying, ‘You’ll regret it.’ . . . It’s not a
song about ‘I wish you’d come back,’ but ‘You’ll wish you were back!’” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Sally Maclennane
The Pogues (1985)
A perfect song, Shane MacGowan told The Daily Telegraph, “should hit you . . .
in the feet, in the groin, in the heart, and the soul.” MacGowan’s sentiment sums
up this high-spirited ballad.
The second single by the Irish-blooded folk-punks to hit the U.K. Top 100,
this classic drinking anthem views working-class life through the bottom of a
beer glass. It’s boisterous, yet tinged with tragedy: MacGowan’s rough-diamond
vocals recount a cautionary tale of death through joyous overindulgence,
centered around harmonica-playing Jimmy and the colorful characters in his
local bar. The lyrics raise a toast “to the greatest little boozer and to Sally
Maclennane”—although, according to the Independent, the latter was “not a lady
but a brand of stout.”
“Sally Maclennane” was taken from The Pogues’ second album, Rum,
Sodomy & the Lash, which was produced by Elvis Costello. A fan of the group,
Costello had taken them on their first major tour as his support act, and he would
later marry their bass player, Cait O’Riordan. With its acoustic guitar, banjo,
accordion, tin-whistle, and stand-up drumming splendor, the song is typical of
the band’s “it rocks but it’s not really rock music” oeuvre.
Never a huge hit, the rabble-rousing “Sally Maclennane” will nonetheless
forever be a favorite among craic-revelers the world over. BC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Voices Carry
’Til Tuesday (1985)
Aimee Mann gave up the music conservatory for punk rock, then gave up punk
rock to start a new wave band. The vocalist must have known what she was
doing: within months of forming, ’Til Tuesday were Boston’s hottest
independent act.
Epic signed the quartet and sent them to New York to record their debut. As
tapes rolled, executives smelled a hit in “Voices Carry”—Mann’s bitter,
paranoid relationship tale with an all-female cast. The thought of one woman
singing about an affair with another, however, made the suits nervous and they
convinced Mann to change the sex of the song’s controlling antagonist from
female to male.
That compromise didn’t hurt Mann’s delivery, which was perfectly in tune
with the lyrical arc. She sounded hollow and beaten as her character identified
the losing situation; then, bristling at the lover’s manipulative ways, full of
defiance. Ultimately, she zoomed into a frenzy that left it unclear how this
relationship would end. The music followed the same path—distant and icy at
first, then steadily drawing closer to the fire.
Two decades later, Mann cut a solo, acoustic version of “Voices Carry” for
iTunes. “The song represents the beginning of my career,” she told Tastes Like
Chicken, “and I felt that maybe it was time to be able to share a different version
of it.”
The original “Voices Carry” became a hit in the United States, Canada, and
Australia. Mann went on to fashion a fine solo career after the group disbanded
in 1988, guested with Rush, and was nominated for an Oscar for her Magnolia
soundtrack. Yet her voice would never carry in quite the same way as it did on
’Til Tuesday’s first single. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“That song is going to puzzle a lot of people. . . . It’s actually not that
religious.”
Kate Bush, 1985
Close to Me
The Cure (1985)
Writer | Noel Davey, Lloyd James, Ian Smith Producer | Lloyd James
Label | Jammy’s
Album | Sleng Teng (1986)
On February 23, 1985, reggae music was changed forever. At a sound system
clash in Kingston, Jamaica, DJ/producer Lloyd “Prince Jammy” James blew
away the competition when he played what is widely considered to be the first
wholly digital reggae “riddim.” The moment the bass pounded out of the
speakers, there was pandemonium. Digital dancehall, or ragga, was born.
The song came into being when Noel Davey was practicing singing to preset
rhythms on his electronic “music box” keyboard. One day he and Wayne Smith
slowed down a rock ’n’ roll preset—reportedly based on Eddie Cochran’s
“Somethin’ Else”—to a reggae rhythm’s pace, and stumbled on the distinctive
bassline that formed the basis of the “Sleng Teng” rhythm.
Smith took the track to Prince Jammy, who recorded a number of artists
toasting over it, including Smith’s own paean to marijuana, “Under Mi Sleng
Teng.” The track became a massive hit, spawning innumerable imitators.
The digital revolution hit Jamaica’s session musicians hard, as producers
moved to emulate the “Sleng Teng” sound, casting aside bassists and drummers
who had previously played on everything recorded on the island. Jammy himself
shelved over fifty “analog” rhythms that he had waiting to be released. As his
DJing assistant Tupps said, “the ‘Sleng Teng’ dominate bad, bad.” DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Cruiser’s Creek
The Fall (1985)
Writer | Mark E. Smith, Brix Smith Producer | John Leckie Label | Beggars
Banquet Album | N/A
One of the few times that The Fall’s maverick ship sailed close to commercial
waters was in the mid-1980s. Crucial to that development was Mark E. Smith’s
partnership with American guitarist Laura Elisse Salenger, aka Brix, whom he
married in 1983.
The sound remained typically robust—driving drums, thumping bass—but
melodies started to creep in. “I don’t want to sell forty thousand records, I want
to sell a million,” Brix told NME. “It doesn’t really mean anything unless you
get a gold disc.” (She was to remain unfulfilled.) “Cruiser’s Creek” was formed
around a nagging guitar riff, reminiscent of a West Coast garage band. However,
if the song was part earworm, it was still part earache on the vocals, with Smith
sounding off in his trademark barks and yelps. Mixed in were derisive references
to the likes of Red Wedge, the left-wing musical collective that included Billy
Bragg and Paul Weller.
In November 1985, “Cruiser’s Creek”—which initially found its way onto
vinyl versions of This Nation’s Saving Grace only outside the United Kingdom
—was played on the band’s second appearance on TV’s alternative music
showcase The Tube (the first had been at the request of DJ John Peel). It was a
nationally broadcast reminder that Morrissey, Marr, Rourke, and Joyce weren’t
the only Smiths from the northwest of England making gloriously addictive
sounds in the mid-1980s. CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“Mike Scott was the best songwriter in the world at that time.”
Bono, 2006
“I loved Marlene Dietrich for her image. And that cruel streak, which
I find attractive. Then I read biographies and feel sad.”
Suzanne Vega, 1999
“Hearing the first take of ‘How Will I Know’ on the phone, we knew
we were on to something special.”
George Merrill, 1985
Manic Monday
Bangles (1985)
“Prince sent a message through saying, ‘If you want to just use the tracks, you
can, and just re-record the vocals,’” said Bangles guitarist Vicki Peterson. “We
gratefully declined.” Audibly influenced by his own “1999,” the Minneapolis
maestro composed “Manic Monday” for his Purple Rain–era protégées
Apollonia 6. However, he pulled it from their album, possibly because Apollonia
did not have a good enough voice.
Meanwhile, as Bangles singer Susanna Hoffs told popdose.com, “He heard
and saw the video for a song that we did on our first record called ‘Hero Takes a
Fall.’ . . . He started to come to our shows, and he would come up and play a
long and amazing guitar solo on that song . . . ‘When Doves Cry’ was becoming
a huge hit on the radio, so it all happened at the same time . . . we hung out a
little bit, and we got to know him a little bit.”
The quartet decorated “Manic Monday” with their West Coast jangle,
bringing Mamas and Papas sunshine to Minneapolis soul. All Over the Place
(1984) had failed to produce hits, but the new song’s appealing cadences and
easy chorus took the Bangles to No. 2 in both the United States and the United
Kingdom.
Peterson recalled Prince visiting while they cut the track. When they
apologized for the lack of keyboards, he whispered, “You don’t need the
keyboards. It’s gonna go.” Good spot. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Sun City
Artists United Against Apartheid (1985)
Writer | Steven Van Zandt Producer | Steven Van Zandt, Arthur Baker Label |
Manhattan
Album | Sun City (1985)
Bruce Springsteen and Miles Davis probably didn’t have much in common.
There was, however, one unifying principle: they weren’t going to play Sun
City, the luxury resort in South Africa. Dozens of others were also willing to
bypass a paycheck to protest the country’s apartheid rule. Midway through U.S.
President Ronald Reagan’s administration, criticized for a policy on apartheid
that many believed wasn’t tough enough, these “rockers and rappers, united and
strong” helped create the decade’s greatest protest song.
“Sun City” was the brainchild of guitarist Steven Van Zandt. Having quit
Springsteen’s band in 1984, he recruited the players, then helped assemble the
song. The result justified the effort, as “Sun City” spurred many to think about
South Africa for the first time. Naysayers included Joni Mitchell, who objected
to the original lyric singling out her friend Linda Ronstadt for playing in South
Africa. U.S. radio also largely ignored the song, concerned about its political
sentiments.
However, “Sun City” stood out for more than just its significance. Among
the first rap-rock hybrids, the song was packed with stirring performances and an
irresistible chorus. And, while it may not have influenced the end of apartheid (a
decade after the song’s release), “Sun City” did achieve the seemingly
impossible: persuading Lou Reed to dance on video. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Kerosene
Big Black (1986)
Writer | Big Black Producer | Iain Burgess, Big Black Label | Homestead
Album | Atomizer (1986)
As a kid, Steve Albini spent time in Missoula, a small city in Montana. A recent
report found that the northwestern area of the state—which includes Missoula—
had the highest rate of illicit drug use in the United States. That has always been
one way to make the time pass. On “Kerosene,” Albini and his cohorts wrote
about other options, as they created Big Black’s most fully formed and
disturbing track. Courtney Love ambivalently cited the song as one that changed
her life.
Intended to make what Albini called “big-ass vicious noise that makes my
head spin,” the band’s debut album moved up several gears from the EPs that
preceded it. Atomizer was still an all-out attack, but there was art at work, too.
Albini’s guitar sounded like he was coaxing clashing chimes from broken glass.
The unsettling mood it created was the perfect welcome for what followed. Big
Black’s tackling of taboo topics often brought fierce criticism, and “Kerosene”
was no different, being interpreted as concerning the gang rape and murder
(using kerosene) of a woman.
Bassist Dave Riley disagreed: “The song is about American small towns
where life is so boring, there’s only two things to do: go blow up a whole load of
stuff for fun, or have a lot of sex with the one girl in town who’ll have sex with
anyone. ‘Kerosene’ is about a guy who tries to combine the two pleasures.”
Uneasy but essential listening. CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Time of No Reply
Nick Drake (1986)
For a band that had no significant hits, Perth-based indie rockers The Triffids
cast a long shadow across Australian music. They were fronted by the booming,
dread-filled voice of charismatic singer David McComb, who also wrote the
bulk of their most distinctive material, conjuring a quintessentially Australian
sense of place.
This cinematic song did that best. Over a brooding bass line, punctuated by a
startling gunshot snare motif, McComb raged at a lover’s desertion: “I drove out
over the flatlands / Hunting down you and him.” A minimal but hugely effective
arrangement was embellished with chiming guitar and “Evil” Graham Lee’s
subtle pedal-steel licks, over a metronomic, Suicide-influenced beat. McComb
recalled: “It seemed to naturally evoke . . . the stretch of highway in between
Caiguna and Norseman, where The Triffids’ Hiace [van] monotonously came to
grief with kangaroos.”
“Wide Open Road” limped to No. 64 in the Australian singles chart, though
it fared better in Britain. But it was not until 2008 that they were inducted into
the Australian Recording Industry Association’s Hall of Fame—too late for
McComb, whose transplanted heart gave out on February 2, 1999, three days
after a minor car accident.
Fellow Aussies, including Weddings Parties Anything and The Church, have
covered the song, but no one has matched the original. JLu
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“When we first played it, I thought it was the best song I’d ever
heard.”
Johnny Marr, 1993
Influenced by: I’m Waiting for the Man • The Velvet Underground
(1967)
Influence on: Teen Age Riot • Sonic Youth (1988)
Covered by: Richard Hawley (2006) • The Caulfield Sisters (2006)
Other key track: Never Understand (1985)
Scottish duo The Jesus and Mary Chain were punk rock in all but their sound.
They had a bratty, defiant snarl, fought with their label over the use of profanity
in song titles, and were infamous for twenty-minute live sets that provoked
crowds to violence. Yet the group’s brand of post-punk, so melodic at its core,
had more in common with The Shangri-Las than the Sex Pistols.
Brothers Jim and William Reid had honed their blend of searing, Velvet
Underground-style guitar and pretty, Beach Boys-esque melodies by the time
they recorded Psychocandy in 1985. However, “Some Candy Talking”—often
considered to be their finest song—didn’t make the cut for that noise-pop
masterpiece.
The tune appeared a few months later on an EP bearing the same title. The
sneering, leering song—juxtaposing Jim Reid’s brittle vocal delivery with a
mountain of electric feedback—was unlike anything most listeners had heard
before. The lyrics seemed sweet and simple, relaying the story of a man going to
meet the girl he adores—although some believed “Candy” to be a reference to
heroin. Reid sings: “To see if I can get a taste tonight A taste of something warm
and sweet That shivers your bones and rises to your heat.” But, the singer
protested to NME at the time, “It isn’t, and I don’t think anybody would think
so.”
The BBC did think so, and banned it, but “Some Candy Talking” crashed the
U.K. Top Twenty anyway. More significantly, it secured the Mary Chain’s rank
as founding fathers of noise-pop, shoegazing, and alt-rock. And, two years later,
William came clean to the Observer: “It’s obvious to us now that it was a drug
song and all the people who criticized us at the time were right.” JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“If you’re not gonna have as much equipment as AC/DC,” observed Mike D,
“you really shouldn’t play instruments.” The Beastie Boys duly ditched pluckily
played punk for hip-hop—and created rap’s first U.S. chart-topping album with
Licensed to III. It was essentially a white take on Run-DMC, whose pioneering
blend of rock and rap the Beasties took to a new level. Most notably, “No Sleep
Till Brooklyn”—the title adapted from Motörhead’s No Sleep ’til Hammersmith
—was based on a riff from the 1975 classic “T.N.T.” by AC/DC (whose “Back
in Black” they had sampled on 1984’s “Rock Hard”).
The metal link was secured with the recruitment of guitarist Kerry King from
Slayer, who were recording the Rick Rubin-produced thrash landmark Reign in
Blood. “We were in the same studio,” King told writer Alan Light, “and [Rubin]
came down and said, ‘Hey, what do you think about doing the lead down the
hallway?’ . . . It took five minutes. It might have taken two takes, because it
wasn’t supposed to be anything intricate. They were spoofing metal, so to
speak.”
The song remains a favorite, thanks in part to its inclusion in 2008’s Guitar
Hero World Tour. However, the Beasties have been heard to amend its lyrics in
concert. “MCA’s in the back ’cos he’s skeezin’ with a ho,” for example, has
become “MCA’s in the back at the mahjong hall.” GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Raining Blood
Slayer (1986)
Writer | Jeff Hanneman, Kerry King Producer | Rick Rubin, Slayer Label | Def
Jam
Album | Reign in Blood (1986)
True Colors
Cyndi Lauper (1986)
“It was like I’d peeled off everything on the surface and that was the
real me there—real feelings.”
Cyndi Lauper, 1987
“You can’t make one song and say you deserve to be a millionaire,” Marshall
Jefferson told The Face in 1994. He should know: having had a hand in Sterling
Void’s “It’s Alright,” Ten City’s “Devotion,” Liquid’s “Sweet Harmony,” and
his own “Move Your Body—the House Music Anthem,” he influenced dance
records for the best part of a decade.
In the early Eighties, when U.S. disco had gone underground, Jefferson was
introduced to its offspring at Chicago’s Music Box club. “My only perspective
on disco had been very negative,” he told NME, “so I knew what I didn’t like
about it: the commercial sound. When I first went to the Music Box and heard
this really black dance music, ‘deep house,’ the heaviness hit me, and I knew I
liked it.”
He began making his own demos, and scored a few club hits, but it was
“Move Your Body” that set him on the road to becoming a godfather of house.
Originally released as a four-track demo—Move, Dub, Drum and House Your
Body—it was refined by Jefferson after his label declined to pay $1,600 for the
twenty-four-track epic that he was planning. Its distinctive use of a piano was so
innovative that many refused to call it house.
Anyone who has ever raved into the small hours will know the spine-shiver
elicited by the opening piano riff before the addictively bouncy beat and
rhythmic strings kick in. “Lost in house music is where I want to be”—millions
were. GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Rise
Public Image Ltd (1986)
Writer | John Lydon, Bill Laswell Producer | John Lydon, Bill Laswell Label |
Virgin
Album | Album (1986)
Public Image Ltd’s album of 1984, This Is What You Want . . . This Is What You
Get, was an unworthy successor to the likes to Flowers of Romance and Metal
Box. But any suspicion that ex-Sex Pistol John Lydon was a spent force whose
anger had become diluted was set straight by “Rise”—its lyrics inspired by
torture techniques in apartheidera South Africa. “‘Rise’ is quotes from some of
the victims,” Lydon told Smash Hits. “I put them together because I thought it
fitted in aptly with my own feelings about daily existence.”
The logical choice would have been to set such incendiary words to abrasive
music. Lydon wrongfooted everyone by framing them in something much more
seductive—with, appropriately enough, an almost world music feel. The lineup
included jazz drummer Tony Williams and keyboard wizard Ryuichi Sakamoto.
Complementing the unusual music, Lydon countered the oft-quoted lyric
“Anger is an energy” (“It sure beats apathy,” he told KROQ) with the Irish
blessing, “May the road rise with you.” Another talking point was the single’s
packaging. Called precisely that—“Single”—on the sleeve, it was a pastiche of
consumerism that extended to the parent album, cassette, and CD releases. “You
can’t keep pumping out happy-go-lucky records and completely avoid reality,”
declared Lydon. No chance of that here. CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“House is a 4/4 beat with some sounds around it. How can you lose?”
Farley “Jackmaster” Funk, 2006
Dear God
XTC (1986)
Hüsker Dü’s guitarist Bob Mould and drummer Grant Hart blueprinted two
generations of music. Their evolution—from the frantic thrash of 1981’s Land
Speed Record to the chiming, mature pop of their later work—was no hasty,
cynical shift. The double set Zen Arcade of 1984 scattered melodic gems
between chainsaw punk, while 1985’s New Day Rising and Flip Your Wig fused
jagged attacks with conventional songcraft.
The trio (completed by bassist Greg Norton) left hardcore imprint SST for
Warner Bros. in 1986. Their major-label debut, Candy Apple Grey, pitted punk
blasts like “Crystal” against acoustic laments and tortured piano balladry.
However, the strongest track returned to their established formula—but with
newfound focus and skill.
“Don’t Want to Know If You Are Lonely” is one of the great breakup songs.
Hart’s lyrics smarted with the vulnerability and paranoia of a post-relationship
aftermath, torn between fears that his ex was still pining for him and that the ex
was with someone else. Set to a nagging melody and one of Mould’s patented,
searing hooks, it became the lead single from Candy Apple Grey.
It never charted, and Hüsker Dü split following 1987’s Warehouse: Songs
and Stories. However, groups like the Pixies and Nirvana rode Hart and Mould’s
formula—nuanced lyrics, punk dynamics, pop melodies—to the mainstream. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Kiss
Prince & The Revolution (1986)
Writer | Prince
Producer | Prince & The Revolution Label | Paisley Park
Album | Parade (1986)
Less than a fortnight after completing the Purple Rain tour—and just before the
release of Around the World in a Day—Prince began to record his next album.
As he sped through songs for Parade, his protégés Mazarati were in an adjoining
studio with producer David Rivkin, aka David Z.
When Mazarati asked for a song, Prince popped into another room and
conjured a demo for “Kiss.” “It was just an acoustic guitar version,” recalled
Rivkin in Per Nilsen’s book DanceMusicSexRomance—Prince: the First
Decade. “So I had the license to go nuts and do whatever I wanted with it. We
stayed up all night and we made that track the song we’re familiar with.”
The next day, Prince was astonished to hear a full-blooded version, with bass
(which he subsequently omitted), drums, piano, and Mazarati on vocals—and
promptly took the song back. He did, however, grant an “arranged by” credit to
Rivkin, and “background voice” to Mazarati. “We were flattered,” the band’s
Tony Christian allowed, “that Prince would even put something that we had
done on his record.” Rivkin said: “As far as I’m concerned, he has paid me back
over and over.”
Prince’s distributors, Warner Bros., were not impressed. “They said, ‘We
can’t put this out,’” recalled Rivkin. “‘There’s no bass and it sounds like a
demo.’” However, aided by a mischievous video, “Kiss” became the maestro’s
third U.S. No. 1. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Attencion Na SIDA
Franco (1987)
Writer | Franco
Producer | Uncredited
Label | African Sun Music Album | Attention Na SIDA (1987)
Although a sensation in their homeland from the get-go, this Australian quartet
took the long road to international success. The trek included charting nine
singles and releasing four albums Down Under, as well as getting the boot from
two major international labels. The path eventually led to Los Angeles—where
they recorded the song that would change their fortunes.
Written by bassist/vocalist Steve Kilbey and his then-girlfriend Karin
Jansson, “Under the Milky Way” was a moody, hypnotic masterpiece that
beguiled everyone. The moony-eyed lyrics conveyed untold despair, undefined
(and unrequited) longing, and deeply poetic imagery.
With eye-popping instrumentation—built on twelve-string acoustic guitar,
yet possessing a near-symphonic wallop—the package came across like an
anthem for, well, something. “There are songs that operate as a premise for you
to have your own adventure,” Kilbey said. “‘Under the Milky Way’ is definitely
one of those songs.”
It was also the band’s first international hit, charting in the Top Forty in the
United States and elsewhere. The Church couldn’t capitalize on this success,
however, and their star soon faded—except in Australia, where they still boast a
loyal following. A startling range of cover artists—from Kill Hannah to Echo &
The Bunnymen and Zero 7 singer Sia—testifies to their legacy. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Bamboleo
Gipsy Kings (1987)
This Corrosion
The Sisters of Mercy (1987)
It took the epic visions of front man Andrew Eldritch and producer Jim
Steinman to create The Sisters of Mercy’s biggest hit. Eldritch was an introvert
whose dislike of the “goth rock” tag made him desperate to escape the niche in
which his band had been placed. Steinman, meanwhile, had spent a decade in
demand after composing the most over-the-top album ever made, Meat Loaf’s
Bat Out of Hell.
“This Corrosion,” Eldritch told Q, “just demanded Steinman’s touch, if
‘touch’ is discreet enough a word for what he does. Whenever I said, ‘Isn’t that
slightly over the top?’ he’d say, ‘No.’” Together they conjured the fiendishly
effective idea of recording the New York Choral Society and multi-tracking the
tapes to make dozens of singers sound like hundreds. The Wagnerian results
were bolted onto an electronic pop song—nearly nine minutes even in demo
form—that was equal parts New Order and The Addams Family.
The elliptical lyrics were inspired by the exit of guitarist Wayne Hussey
(founder of The Mission). “It is, of course, directed at somebody,” Eldritch told
Melody Maker. “I find it embarrassing watching people humiliate themselves for
their absurd idea of rock ’n’ roll.” The chorus—“Hey now, hey now now, sing
this corrosion to me”—still elicits sing-alongs at Sisters shows. As Eldritch
proudly declared, “It’s my war cry.” JMc See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Camarón
Pata Negra (1987)
The most celebrated movers and shakers of Spain’s 1980s flamenco revival, Pata
Negra (“black leg”) took their name from the tastiest type of Iberian ham that
money can buy. The core of the group was Raimundo Amador Fernández and
his brother Rafael, and they pushed flamenco into exciting new territory, fusing
it with blues in a style they dubbed bluslería. Blues de la Frontera, their last
album together, was voted the top album of the decade in the Spanish music
press.
“Camarón” is an homage to their friend and colleague, the celebrated
flamenco singer Camarón de la Isla. The music is an unlikely but perfectly
judged fusion of bluesy electric guitar licks and a flamenco rhythm based on the
12/8 meter of tanguillos de Cádiz. This is one of the many palos (styles) of
flamenco that have originated in Cádiz, the city with which Camarón is most
strongly associated.
It was actually in their hometown of Seville that Raimundo first met
Camarón, along with his guitarist Paco de Lucía. Later, Raimundo would
collaborate with them on the album La Leyenda del Tiempo (1979), playing
Spanish guitar alongside the great Tomatito. After a stint in the band Veneno
(named after its founder Kiko Veneno), the brothers formed Pata Negra. They
eventually split over “musical differences” but have re-formed several times.
JLu
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Amandari
Ali Farka Touré (1987)
Ali Farka Touré was one of the most revered artists from Mali—a poor,
landlocked country often perceived as the original source of the blues. He was
dubbed “the bluesman of Africa” and “the African John Lee Hooker”—and, of
all his songs, “Amandrai” most closely bears this out.
Touré first recorded “Amandrai” at Radio Mali in the 1970s. The song is
about serenading a secret lover—termed “my little sister”—by means of music.
Its rhythm and melody are typical of songs in Tamascheq, the language of the
Touareg—just one of several in which Touré sang. (When he first heard John
Lee Hooker and Albert King, he declared, “This music has been taken from
here,” noting that it was close to Tamascheq music.)
“Amandrai” received its first international release on Touré’s striking, self-
titled 1987 album. The CD version included a studio recording with just his
guitar and voice, as well as one recorded live in London, with the click and
boom of percussion.
Touré revisited it in a fuller arrangement on the Grammy-winning Talking
Timbuktu (1994), recorded in Los Angeles. His group, Asco, contributed
percussion, joined by John Patitucci on acoustic bass, Jim Keltner on subtle
drums, and Ry Cooder. “We did that record in three days,” Cooder told the BBC
in 2006 (the year of Touré’s death). “We could have done [it] in one day except
that I had to go to bed and he didn’t.” JLu
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Push It
Salt-N-Pepa (1987)
“I thought, ‘What the hell is that?’ It was unlike anything else that
had come before.”
Roots Manuva, 2008
True Faith
New Order (1987)
“New Order had become really stagnant and really repetitive, but
now I think they’re brilliant.”
Robert Smith, The Cure, 1988
Influenced by: Planet Rock • Afrika Bambataa & The Soul Sonic
Force (1982)
Influence on: The Real Thing • Gwen Stefani (2004)
Covered by: The Boo Radleys (1993) • Dreadful Shadows (1995) •
Aghast View (1997) • Flunk (2005) • Code 64 (2005) • Anberlin
(2009)
Having risen from the ashes of Joy Division, by 1987 New Order had been
firmly established for six years in the United Kingdom, with hits such as “Blue
Monday.” It was “True Faith,” though, that finally broke them into the American
mainstream, when it reached No. 32. Not bad for a song written and recorded—
along with its outstanding B-side, “1963”—in just ten days.
As with many of the Mancunian quartet’s songs, the title doesn’t feature in
the lyrics, which vocalist Bernard Sumner penned when he was accidentally
locked in the group’s apartment for a day. “We got a bill for thousands . . . off
the taxman, I think,” he told News of the World. “We thought, ‘Hell, we’d better
try to write a Top Forty hit here.’ So we got our heads together, and ‘True Faith’
was the result.” Sumner’s line “Now that we’ve grown up together / They’re all
taking drugs with me” was changed to “. . . They’re afraid of what they see” for
added radio friendliness. The group, however, performed the original lyric
onstage.
Peter Hook’s melodic bass almost didn’t make the cut. “Let’s just say it was
a bit of a battle for me to get on there,” he told Q. “Musically, we were moving
towards straight dance and I was keen on keeping the New Order I’d known and
loved.”
Nonetheless, the blend of Gillian Gilbert’s danceable synths, Stephen
Morris’s dramatic drums, and the edgy lyrics made “True Faith” irresistible,
while French choreographer Philippe Decouflé’s surreal video—in which
outlandishly costumed dancers slap each other in time to the music—won the
BPI (British Phonographic Industry) award for best promotional video in 1988.
“It was,” producer Stephen Hague told Sound on Sound, “just ‘mission
accomplished.’” GK
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
It’s a Sin
Pet Shop Boys (1987)
“Your career gets hijacked by a big hit. In our case it’s ‘Go West’ and
‘It’s a Sin.’”
Neil Tennant, 2009
Writer | Martyn Young, Steve Young Producer | Martyn Young, John Fryer
Label | 4AD
Album | N/A
Birthday
The Sugarcubes (1987)
As a solo artist, Björk has drawn headlines for attacking paparazzi and for her
racy videos and outlandish outfits. She has also delivered a succession of daring
albums.
The Icelandic pop princess was equally creative and controversial upon her
arrival, making a big splash with “Birthday,” The Sugarcubes’ international
debut single. Its lyrics were vaguely mysterious, and the storyline made harder to
follow by Björk’s unorthodox whisper-to-wail delivery. “I can’t understand what
‘Birthday’ is about,” she claimed in Exposure. “I always write the melodies, then
the words come later. I’m not a poet . . . I just translate feeling into words.”
Careful attention, however, revealed that Björk had entered taboo territory,
describing an affair between a five-year-old girl and a much older male. “The
song’s called ‘Birthday’ because it’s his fiftieth birthday,” she told Raw, “but not
many people can figure it out from the lyrics.”
Yet the woozy, Cocteau Twins-esque ballad was oddly endearing, sounding
a siren-like call to those weary of slick 1980s pop. Championed by U.K. DJ John
Peel, “Birthday” paved the way for the success of The Sugarcubes’ full-length
debut, Life’s Too Good (1988). It introduced Icelandic music to listeners across
the globe and made the public hungry to see what Björk would do next—a
pursuit that has proved endlessly fascinating. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Yé Ké Yé Ké
Mory Kanté (1987)
Mory Kanté was the first African musician to score a million-selling single with
the Afro-pop classic “Yé Ké Yé Ké,” a dance-floor smash across Europe. It
appeared on his 1987 album Akwaba Beach, although he had recorded a more
traditional version for A Paris, which was released in 1984. Blowing up just
after the marketing term “world music” was coined, the song encouraged a surge
of international interest in African artists.
Kanté comes from a long line of griots—a hereditary caste of musicians
found in West African countries. Though a multi-instrumentalist and singer, he
is best known for playing the kora—West Africa’s twenty-one-stringed harp,
which tinkles away throughout “Yé Ké Yé Ké.” Of the epithets the song has
earned him, “doyen of techno kora music” is among the more accurate.
The production has a modern sheen, with crashing drums and stabbing brass,
belying the fact that Kanté based it on a traditional Guinean love song called
“Yékéké.” “It’s the sound that young women make when they dance,” Kanté
told Folk Roots. “You can do yéké with the bottom, then yéké with the top.”
Kante sings in classic call-and-response mode with female vocalist Djanka
Diabate, who performs the catchy chorus: “Yékéké n’nimo, Yéké yéké.” N’nimo
means “my sister-in-law”—a phrase used by men in Guinea as a non-threatening
way of flirting with women.
“Yé Ké Yé Ké” has since been covered in more than a dozen languages,
including Chinese, Arabic, Hebrew, and Hindi. It has also been remixed many
times, notably in 1994 by German techno duo Hardfloor, whose version featured
on the soundtrack for the 2000 movie The Beach. JLu
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“The best pop song The Cure have ever done. . . . It was one take and
it was perfect.”
Robert Smith, 2003
“I knew as soon as I’d written it that it was a good pop song . . .” The Cure’s
Robert Smith declared to Blender. The song was conjured in “a small two-
bedroom flat in north London,” before Smith took it to sessions in the south of
France. Drummer Boris Williams inspired him to speed up the song, and
introduce the instruments one by one.
Smith gave an instrumental version to French TV show Les Enfants du Rock,
aiming to make this “obvious single . . . familiar to millions of Europeans.” The
scheme backfired: “Just Like Heaven” failed even to make France’s Top Thirty.
Nonetheless, the song became their most popular: even fans who balk at “Friday
I’m in Love” have no problem jigging to this jangly gem.
Covers abound, from Dinosaur Jr.’s Smith-endorsed, “passionate . . .
fantastic” overhaul, to Katie Melua’s tentative tiptoe. The latter adorned the
2005 movie Just Like Heaven—the second blockbuster to bear a Cure-inspired
title, after Boys Don’t Cry, released in 1999.
Closer to Smith’s heart, however, was the original video. The song, he
revealed, is “about a seduction trick. . . . It was something that happened on
Beachy Head, on the south coast of England. The song is about hyperventilating
—kissing and fainting to the floor. Mary [his wife] dances with me in the video
because she was the girl, so it had to be her. The idea is that one night like that is
worth one thousand hours of drudgery.”
“My favorite Cure song of all-time,” enthused the video’s director, Tim
Pope. “Who else could write music as uplifting and celebratory as this?” He
added that Mary Poole “can honestly lay claim to being the only featured female
in any Cure video, ever.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“It’s probably better that they just think it’s a love song at this point.”
Michael Stipe, 1987
After plugging away in the alternative rock scene during the early Eighties,
college radio favorites R.E.M. finally made a colossal breakthrough. The key to
their success was what singer and lyricist Michael Stipe told Rolling Stone was
“a made-up song, not from any real story.”
Their first Top Ten hit on Billboard’s Hot 100 registered them as a force to
be reckoned with. “I wanted to write a song with the word ‘love’ in it,” Stipe
remarked in 1992, “because I hadn’t done that before.” But what many construed
as a romantic message was actually much darker. As Stipe explained: “The song
sounds like a love song until that line [“A simple prop to occupy my time”], and
then it gets ugly. I thought it was too brutal to actually record.”
Brutal or not, the soaring song helped Document go platinum, and ushered
R.E.M. into the mainstream. “We used to play it,” guitarist Peter Buck recalled,
“and I’d look into the audience, and there would be couples kissing. Yet the
verse is . . . savagely anti-love. . . . People told me that was ‘their song.’ That
was your song? Why not ‘Paint it Black’ or ‘Stupid Girl’ or ‘Under My
Thumb’?” (The song, which reached No. 16 in the U.K. chart following its re-
release in 1991, contains just three verses—identical but for minor variations.)
“The One I Love” marked the start of a fruitful relationship with Scott Litt.
He went on to produce a further five R.E.M. albums, and mixed singles for
R.E.M. fans Nirvana.
After Document’s success, R.E.M. signed a multi-million dollar deal with
Warner Bros., beginning their rise to stadium status. And at those stadiums, this
song’s baffling but rousing chorus of “Fire!” echoes to the skies. SF
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“The opening line of ‘Fairytale of New York’ is ‘Christmas Eve, babe, in the
drunk tank,’” observed The Pogues’ former manager, Frank Murray. “You know
you’re not getting an ordinary Christmas song when it starts like that.”
“Fairytale of New York”—its title inspired by J. P. Donleavy’s novel A
Fairy Tale of New York (1973)—took two years to write, and a month to record.
Often voted Britain’s favorite Christmas song, its original release was pipped to
the No. 1 spot by “Always On My Mind,” by the Pet Shop Boys.
In a bid for international success, Murray took The Pogues on tour in
America. During a bout of pneumonia, Shane MacGowan perfected the lyrics to
a duet that he’d planned to sing with bassist Cait O’Riordan. After she quit the
band, producer Steve Lillywhite took the song to his wife, singer Kirsty
MacColl. “Kirsty really made that record,” opined MacGowan. “She had the
character down properly. There was a lot of chemistry between us. She was a
great laugh.” The result “just sounded perfect,” according to Murray, and—
according to pianist Jools Holland—“like a little symphony.”
Avoiding the slush usually associated with festive singles, MacGowan
charted the spiraling fortunes of a “bum” and a “slut on junk” who have failed to
ignite Broadway. “You don’t normally get Christmas songs that are so utterly
hopeless,” said Nick Cave. “There should be more of ’em.” SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Paradise City
Guns N’ Roses (1987)
Given their advanced intoxication, it’s unsurprising that Guns N’ Roses have
varying accounts of their signature song’s origins. Bassist Duff McKagan
declared: “I wrote the chords to that song when I first moved to LA, when I
didn’t know anybody and was feeling a little down.” Guitarist Slash dated it to a
post-show jam in San Francisco: “I came up with the jangly intro . . . Duff and
Izzy [Stradlin, guitarist] picked it up . . . while I came up with the chord
changes.” At its live premiere, in Los Angeles in October 1985, McKagan
announced, “We just wrote this one today.”
Slash’s suggested “Where the girls are fat and they’ve got big titties” was
promptly vetoed. Wrote biographer Marc Canter, “The verse before ‘tell me who
ya gonna believe’ had different lyrics from those that appeared on the album.
Duff sang a lot of the leads toward the end, while Axl [Rose, vocalist] filled in
the back-up vocals.”
Rose explained the lyrics in a press release: “The verses are more about
being in the jungle. The chorus is like being back in the Midwest or somewhere.
It reminds me of when I was a little kid.” On Appetite for Destruction, he
insisted on “a screaming synth,” to Slash’s displeasure.
Regardless, it joined “Sweet Child o’ Mine” and “Welcome to the Jungle” as
Appetite’s hit highlights and became one of the rock stormers of the past quarter-
decade. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Depeche Mode were quick to muddy their synth sound after a 1981 split with
Vince Clarke. Their music began to embrace a darker hue that shifted the band
away from the mainstream, but secured a loyal fan-base. By Black Celebration
(1986), they were leather-clad goths in search of a hit.
The answer came with “Never Let Me Down Again,” which brimmed with
punishing beats, heavily treated guitar, and a killer chorus. There was a black
humor to “Promises me I’m as safe as houses / As long as I remember who’s
wearing the trousers,” but as Dave Gahan blared “Never let me down” over
Gore’s delicate counterpoint and massed Wagnerian choirs during the extended
fade, the effect was almost sick with horror.
“Never Let Me Down Again” became one of Depeche Mode’s lowest-
charting hits in their homeland in half a decade. Unruffled, Gore assured Record
Mirror, “It’s nice to be more of a cult band than a hugely successful group.”
However, the song and its parent album confirmed their stealthy triumph in
the United States, with fans flocking to see the newly muscular Mode. A
performance in the tour movie 101 even debuted an arm-waving routine for the
song that persists at shows to this day. Oddly, this breakthrough reestablished
Depeche Mode as contenders at home, reinforced in 1990 by the masterful
Violator. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Faith
George Michael (1987)
Well before Wham! called it quits in 1986, people thought George Michael had
what it took to become a successful solo artist. But few could have predicted
how quickly he ascended from teeny-bop idol to pop icon. All it took was one
album—but what an album. Faith boasted seven singles, sold millions, and
scored a Grammy. “Just before the break-up of Wham! I was very introspective
and depressed . . .” he recalled. “Now I’ve come through that period . . . and it’s
given me optimism and faith.”
The title cut was striking in its simplicity. After a softly played organ,
quoting Wham!’s “Freedom,” the song bounced into gear with a rapidly
strummed acoustic guitar. Punk legends The Damned had left “a horrible
aluminum body guitar” at Denmark’s Puk Studio, engineer Chris Porter told
Billboard’s Craig Rosen. “That’s what you hear, and it became the signature
sound of the record. He said he wanted a Bo Diddley kind of rhythm . . .
everything stark and dry.”
“Faith” became one of Michael’s greatest hits—especially in the United
States, where it was the top single of 1988. An iconic video helped—although,
he admitted, “I can’t play the guitar in the video. I can play guitar but not that
well. If you look in the video, some of the time I’ve got a glove on and other
times I haven’t. That’s because I’d grazed my fingers on the strings.” JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Hit-makers in the United States and their native Australia since the early
Eighties, INXS had to wait until 1987 for worldwide success. Key was this
slinky little number, whose video helpfully showcased Michael Hutchence’s
good looks.
Guitarist Andrew Farriss wrote the music before jetting to Hong Kong to
rendezvous with the singer. “The cab came to pick me up to take me to the
airport . . .” he recalled. “I told the cab driver to wait: ‘Please don’t go, because I
have to go to the airport, but I have to finish writing a song first.’ He looked at
me like, ‘What a weirdo. Yeah, writing a song—sure, mate.’”
Coincidentally, Hutchence had written a set of lyrics the night before Farriss
arrived: “Andrew was playing these tapes of stuff he’d done, and I . . . got a
microphone and pulled out these ‘Need You Tonight’ lyrics. I started singing on
the track straight off, and the song finished—it stopped at the end—and it was
exactly how you hear it on the record.” The only change from this demo, Farriss
recalled, “was we put a stop in the middle of it.”
The song’s abrupt ending segued straight into the next album track,
“Mediate”—a trick they replicated for an accompanying video. Never intending
to release it as a single, the band were swayed by the reactions of friends to the
recording. “It was ridiculously casual . . .” admitted Farriss. “It must be the
secret to it all, I’m sure.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | U2
Producer | Daniel Lanois, Brian Eno Label | Island
Album | The Joshua Tree (1987)
When U2 began work on the follow-up to The Unforgettable Fire (1985), there
was—according to guitarist The Edge—“little to be excited about . . . ‘With or
Without You’ was really just a chord pattern; it didn’t have melodies or guitar
parts.” Even after further work, “‘With or Without You’ still sounded awful.”
Bassist Adam Clayton agreed: “The chords just went round and round and
round. It was hard to find a . . . new way into it.”
Happily, fate intervened. While The Edge road-tested a prototype guitar that
“gave me infinite sustain, like a violin,” Virgin Prunes front man Gavin Friday
persuaded them to persevere with the song. With the addition of a keyboard
arpeggio from producer Brian Eno, the music was complete.
As usual, singer Bono wrote the words. “That song is about torment,” he
recalled in the band’s 2006 autobiography, “sexual but also psychological—
about how repressing desires makes them stronger.”
The result was their first U.S. No. 1. “We really agonized over which single
was going to lead . . .” The Edge told NME. “‘With or Without You’ became the
obvious choice . . . it’s the one that seems to smooth the transition from the last
thing to this record the easiest.” Friends fans will remember “With or Without
You” soundtracking key moments of drama amid the comedy. The song remains
a spinetingling highlight of U2’s concerts. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Freak Scene
Dinosaur Jr. (1988)
Writer | J Mascis
Producer | J Mascis
Label | SST
Album | Bug (1988)
The original lineup of Dinosaur Jr. barely survived the sessions for their third
album, Bug. But this friction fueled their greatest anthem: a tale of relationship
dysfunction set to an electrifying, quiet/LOUD! dynamic, reflecting the passive-
aggressive tensions within the group. “The lyrics spelled out that [singer-
guitarist J Mascis] was unhappy,” bassist Lou Barlow told Mojo in 2005. “There
was a ‘Bug’ in the ointment, and it was me.”
Barlow and drummer Murph recorded their parts within three days, leaving
Mascis alone to complete the album, multi-tracking layer upon layer of guitar.
And “Freak Scene” was very much Mascis’s “guitar hero” moment. The
jangling, acoustic verses flared into deafening, distorted riffage and squalling but
melodic solos.
The lyrics drew upon the frustrations between Mascis and Barlow,
describing a situation “so fucked, I can’t believe it”—although the song closed
on a note of hopeful reconciliation, with Mascis drawling, “When I need a
friend, it’s still you.” The song’s success—it hit No. 7 on the U.K. indie chart—
saw the group lured to major label Sire Records, albeit without Barlow, who was
sacked in May 1989 after a miserable tour in support of Bug. (Barlow went on to
form Sebadoh.)
With the song’s crunch recognized as a key influence on the likes of the
Pixies and Nirvana, Dinosaur Jr. coasted through the grunge era, but never again
would they capture the slacker generation’s ennui as succinctly as on “Freak
Scene.” Perhaps sensing that their flammable chemistry was key to the group’s
sound, Mascis buried his arsenal of hatchets with Barlow in 2005, and the
reunited group continue to tour and record. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Cut-up-and-keep mixmasters Coldcut made Eric B. & Rakim’s name across the
world with a 1987 slice and dice of “Paid in Full.” Not that Eric B. appreciated
it: “They were trying to make us sound like a bunch of clowns,” he protested to
NME.
In 1988 they needed no help: “Follow the Leader” showed the pair at their
best. Eric B. created a woozy, sinister patchwork of belly-shaking bass and
dynamic, Mission Impossible-style samples, while Rakim spat catchphrases that
would linger for years. “Every time you hear it,” Eric bragged, “you’ll hear
something different.”
Heavy on the James Brown samples, the duo’s debut Paid in Full had set a
template for late Eighties hip-hop. But then Public Enemy demonstrated another
way: layering beats and samples to emulate an orchestra of the apocalypse.
“Follow the Leader” was in this mold, evoking danger with every stab of brass,
every rata-tat of machine-gun bass, every word of Rakim’s relentless onslaught.
It sounded almost incongruous for Rakim to be preaching hope: “I have to
raise ya from the cradle to the grave, but remember You’re not a slave.” “If
people put their mind to it,” he declared, “they can reach out and grab
themselves a life, ’cause it’s out there waiting. But you can’t sleep on yourself,
’cause there’s competition out there in the real world.”
Against the title track’s full-steam assault, the rest of the Follow the Leader
album sounded almost tame (though Chris Rock listed the album at No. 12 on
his Vibe magazine Top 25 Hip-Hop Albums of All Time). The single provided a
high-water mark for the duo’s career, and they split in 1992, having failed to
touch it again. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Where Is My Mind?
Pixies (1988)
The Pixies’ full-length debut was filled with taboo topics, including voyeurism,
mutilation, and sexual fetishes. Ironically, its defining moment—and songbook
highlight—was inspired by vocalist Charles “Black Francis/Frank Black”
Thompson’s happy memories of a scuba diving trip.
The deceptively simple lyrics waltz between surrealism and children’s
poetry, and the tempo changes so frequently, and so convincingly, that it’s hard
to categorize the song. The tune is full of remarkable performances, from
Black’s flexible vocals to Joey Santiago’s biting guitar, yet there’s an undeniable
sense of band chemistry.
“Where is My Mind?” wasn’t released as a single, but its popularity among
fans helped Surfer Rosa spend over a year on the U.K. indie chart—though it
took seventeen years for the album to be certified gold in the United States.
But the true measure of this song isn’t properly told in sales figures alone.
Like The Velvet Underground, the Pixies influenced innumerable aspiring
musicians, especially Thom Yorke and Kurt Cobain. “Where is My Mind?” has
been sampled by M.I.A., and covered by acts as diverse as Placebo, Nada Surf,
and James Blunt. Its legacy was secured by the final scene of David Fincher’s
movie Fight Club (1999), in which—against a backdrop of collapsing buildings
—it suddenly sounded like the loveliest song in the world. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Waiting Room
Fugazi (1988)
By the mid-1980s, punk had lost its way. Instead of embracing diversity, the
movement rejected innovation. If you wanted to be classified as true punk, you
had to play by strict, stifling rules: three chords and nothing longer than three
minutes.
In 1988, Fugazi shattered those strictures. Founded by Ian MacKaye, a
veteran of hardcore act Minor Threat, the group channeled everything from The
Stooges, to dub and free jazz. “Waiting Room”—their debut EP’s opening track
—served as Fugazi’s revolutionary declaration. Vocalists MacKaye and Guy
Picciotto barked demands, urging listeners to think for themselves and find their
own way in the world: “But I don’t sit idly by I’m planning a big surprise I’m
gonna fight for what I want to be . . .”
The music was similarly radical: an almost funky bass line kicked off the
track, and tightly wound, stop-start guitars backed the shouted call to action.
Other punks, MacKaye recalled in 2002, didn’t know what to make of this brave
new sound: “When ‘Waiting Room’ came out, everyone thought that was totally
bizarre reggae music.”
That confusion wouldn’t last long—alternative types everywhere adopted the
song as their anthem. Even jocks latched onto its inspirational message:
American footballers the Washington Redskins have used the track to pump up
fans during home games since 2001. TB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Influenced by: Scene of the Crime • Iggy & The Stooges (1981)
Influence on: Teenage Whore • Hole (1991)
Covered by: Sonic Youth (1988) • Naked Lunch (2001) • My Ruin
(2005)
Other key track: Here Comes Sickness (1989)
Often overlooked in retrospectives, Mudhoney (formed in Seattle in 1988) have
nonetheless been called “the band that made grunge rock possible.” Green River
(featuring Mudhoney’s Mark Arm and Steve Turner) and Soundgarden had
produced earlier single releases, but when Sub Pop became a full-time working
label in 1988, “Touch Me I’m Sick” was their calling card.
“It was just a limited edition, maybe 800 pieces,” recalled Sub Pop founder
Bruce Pavitt to Dazed & Confused. “But people all over America started raving
about it. People that we really respected. That fall, Mudhoney released Superfuzz
Bigmuff, which amazingly did very well in England. . . . We sent Mudhoney
over there with Sonic Youth and we released a split single where they covered
each other’s songs.” (The original version reappeared in 1990 on Superfuzz
Bigmuff Plus Early Singles.)
Featuring Mark Arm’s sleazy shrieks and a simplistic guitar riff distorted out
of all proportion, the song is an aural representation of what “grunge” might look
like if you met it after midnight in a spit-and-sawdust bar. Not for nothing has
“Touch Me I’m Sick” earned the accolades “classic” and “anthem.”
Mudhoney have continued to make albums, but this remains their signature
song. Its legacy includes director Cameron Crowe’s movie Singles (1992)—a
paean to grunge-era Seattle. This featured a reworking, performed by Citizen
Dick—a fictitious band featuring Matt Dillon and three members of Pearl Jam.
Its title? “Touch Me I’m Dick.” As a bizarre coda, Mudhoney visited the White
House with Pearl Jam the day after Kurt Cobain’s body was discovered in 1994.
“It was,” Arm reflected, “an odd afternoon.” SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I get too much enjoyment out of blasting my head off and it’s taken
its toll.”
Kevin Shields, 1992
Influenced by: The Living End • The Jesus and Mary Chain (1986)
Influence on: Revolution • Spacemen 3 (1989)
Other key tracks: Nothing Much to Lose (1988) • You Made Me
Realise (1988) • Blown a Wish (1991) • Only Shallow (1991) • To
Here Knows When (1991)
Buffalo Stance
Neneh Cherry (1988)
A heady blast of R&B, rap, pop, hip-hop, and dance, “Buffalo Stance”
celebrated strong women, lambasting gold-diggers and pimps. It was the perfect
soundtrack for its feisty Swedish singer, Neneh Cherry. “Most of the music I
hear today is completely dishonest and devoid of energy,” she complained.
“‘Buffalo Stance’ is meant to be hard, fast, sexy . . . and raw.”
The song began as the B-side to “Looking Good Diving,” a 1986 single by
Cameron McVey’s duo Morgan McVey. That B-side was a remix by the Wild
Bunch, comprised of future super-producer Nellee Hooper and members of
Massive Attack. The single flopped, and McVey began to focus on production
and songwriting. Keen to keep the spotlight on Cherry, he is credited on her Raw
Like Sushi as “Booga Bear.”
Bomb the Bass—who helped kick-start acid house—produced the song,
hence Cherry’s namechecking “Timmy” (Tim Simenon) and demanding “Bomb
the Bass: rock this place!”
“It’s about sexual survival,” Cherry told Rolling Stone. “It’s about being a
woman of the Eighties and having something to say. . . . You have to know
yourself pretty well, and then just stick your fingers up to the rest of the world
and do it.”
Cherry’s mixed background yielded a beguiling blend of American rapping
and British asides. With a funky quote from Miami’s “Chicken Yellow (Let Me
Do It to You),” this headspinning mix entranced a generation, including Amy
Winehouse, the Spice Girls, and Swedish popstress Robyn. “As a young girl,”
remarked the latter, “I was quite empowered by that song. She was saying the
things you wanted to say and she looked the way you wanted to look.” OM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Fast Car
Tracy Chapman (1988)
N.W.A weren’t the first gangsta rappers. By 1988, their West Coast predecessor
Ice-T had built a career on pimping and gangbanging rhymes. But N.W.A were
the first to go multi-platinum thanks to the unholy trinity of bitches, bullets, and
bad language. Straight Outta Compton—produced in six weeks for only $8,000
—sold over three million copies, an estimated eighty percent of which were
bought by suburban teens.
Listen to the thrilling opening title track, and you will quickly grasp why
N.W.A infiltrated the mainstream. While Ice-T spat cautionary tales of street
life, N.W.A produced the hip-hop equivalent of action movies. MTV banning
the track’s video only served to boost its sales.
In the song, each member of the band played a cold-hearted super-villain—
perfect adolescent antiheroes. The air of menace is amped up by Dr. Dre’s
chaotically churning production. Samples of Funkadelic, Ronnie Hudson & the
Street People, The Winstons, and Wilson Pickett are smashed against sirens,
scratches, and shouts.
Those elements may now sound like rap clichés, but in 1988 they were
revolutionary. Previously, only feel-good hip-hop acts had enjoyed chart
success. Now, labels realized that they could hawk tales from the frontline to
shock-craving adolescents. By the end of 1988, gangsta rap was unstoppable. TB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Opel
Syd Barrett (1988)
Christmas 1988 offered two stocking fillers for Pink Floyd fans. One was the
band’s live Delicate Sound of Thunder; the other was a collection of unreleased
material by Syd Barrett. Though the former trounced its rival in sales, in terms of
songs, Barrett was the clear winner—with the opening, six-minute title track
proving his finest solo effort.
Barrett had mentioned the song to Malcolm Jones, the Harvest label’s A&R
man, in spring 1969. Thrilled at the thought of Barrett returning to action, Jones
set about producing his first solo album; but the sessions proved longwinded,
with backing band the Soft Machine often baffled by Barrett’s oblique
instructions. Alarmed at the cost of the work, Harvest’s parent label, EMI, urged
Jones to relinquish his duties to Floyd’s Roger Waters and David Gilmour. The
duo completed The Madcap Laughs, but omitted “Opel.”
“Syd obviously intended to include it on the album . . .” rued the producer.
“It is one of his best tracks and it’s tragic that it wasn’t included.” Indeed, it is
hard to comprehend how Waters and Gilmour could have overlooked—or been
unmoved by—the stark, beautiful piece.
“What was so stunning about Syd’s songs,” Waters told Rolling Stone, “was,
through the whimsy and the crazy juxtaposition of ideas and words, there was a
very powerful grasp of humanity. They were quintessentially human songs.” BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Orinoco Flow
Enya (1988)
“I was hoping someone would enjoy it, but I didn’t realize how many
listeners there would be.”
Enya, 2008
Many label Irish singer and composer Enya as unhip. Others worship her as a
mystical Celtic priestess—one who knows magic, converses with forest
creatures, and keeps the Emerald Isle safe from evil wizards. (The latter group
may well be right—she does, after all, live in a castle.)
That people would still be talking about Enya today seemed highly unlikely
at the start of her solo career. After appearing with her family band Clannad—
best known for “Theme from Harry’s Game”—in the early Eighties, the singer
drew little attention with her eponymous 1987 debut; but things changed once
Enya delivered her sophomore set, thanks to “Orinoco Flow.”
If the title doesn’t ring a bell, you’re not alone—most know the tune as “Sail
Away.” (“Sail away” is the chorus, and the song’s only two easily decipherable
words.) It was actually named after London’s Orinoco Studios, where longtime
Enya collaborator Nicky Ryan, a devoted follower of The Beach Boys and Phil
Spector, fashioned a new “Wall of Sound” for his protégée.
The mix included synthesized folk melodies and heavily layered vocals, the
latter forming a simple travelogue through such exotic ports of call as Fiji, Bali,
and Babylon. “I like to curate different ideas and put them all in one song,” Enya
explained to the Daily Telegraph, “and see the journey of what it will become.”
The result was the catchiest new age song ever heard—one that turned out to
be bigger than its genre. “Orinoco Flow” pushed Watermark past the eight
million sales mark and reached No. 1 in several countries. It became the singer’s
signature tune, and set the stage for Enya to metamorphose into one of the
world’s most popular artists. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
One
Metallica (1988)
“So which song is the obligatory ballad?” asked journalists when Metallica’s
fourth album, . . . And Justice for All, was announced in 1988—with good
reason. The San Francisco-based thrashers had included a mellow, downbeat
song on their previous two albums: “Fade to Black” on Ride the Lightning
(1984) and “Welcome Home (Sanitarium)” on Master of Puppets (1986).
However, “One” is rather different from its predecessors.
After a cheesy but thrilling barrage of warfare sound effects, the song moves
into a melodic lament, based on singer and guitarist James Hetfield’s tale of a
suicidal soldier left blind, deaf, and limbless by a landmine explosion. “Tied to
machines that make me be . . . cut this life off from me!” barks Hetfield
earnestly, while the guitars switch from clean arpeggios in the verses to distorted
riffage in the chorus.
All Metallica ballads end with a climax of enormous riffs and, when the
expected huge guitars arrive, the results are spectacular. Lead guitarist Kirk
Hammett delivers a fusillade of notes over a riff pattern anchored to drummer
Lars Ulrich’s unforgettable double bass-drum riff. (And check out the orchestra-
enhanced version on their live album S&M, recorded in Berkeley in 1999.)
“One” remains a staple of Metallica’s live set, two decades after its release,
and the song’s video—the band’s first—enjoys regular airings. Although it
comes across as a little naive these days, the footage underlines Metallica’s clear
artistic vision. Intercut with scenes from the 1971 war movie Johnny Got His
Gun—whose Dalton Trumbo–penned story had inspired the song—the video
evokes the horrors of war, with the music as an appropriately grim soundtrack.
JMc
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“The brutality of the Old Testament inspired me, the stories and
grand gestures.”
Nick Cave, 2008
Prison songs are designed to shock. Johnny Cash, for instance, wove casual,
attention-grabbing violence (“I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die”) into
“Folsom Prison Blues.”
The Bad Seeds took the inmate anthem to a new, harrowing high with “The
Mercy Seat.” Nick Cave takes on the persona of a death row prisoner awaiting
execution. As that fateful appointment gets closer, the inmate moves from
denying his crime to admitting his guilt. His grip on reality also loosens as death
approaches. The prisoner sees the face of Jesus in inanimate objects; criticizes
his good hand (“That filthy five”) for not stopping its murderous brother, and
compares the electric chair to God’s throne in heaven (from which “all history
does unfold”), which he will see all too soon.
That journey is made more traumatic by a discordant cacophony summoned
up by the Bad Seeds. The metallic chug of a bass guitar smacked with
drumsticks serves as the track’s foundation. Military drumming, off-key
harpsichord notes, and unrelenting, pounding guitars are thrown on top—a bare
yet chaotic melody on which Cave hangs his lyrics. Perfecting that wall of
dissonance, said engineer Tony Cohen, “knocked ten years off my lifespan. . . .
There was so much on there to try and make any sense [of].”
It was worth it. “The Mercy Seat” made a fan of Cave’s childhood hero
Cash, who recorded a stripped-back cover for his American III: Solitary Man
(2000). “[That] version is so good,” said Cave in 2003. “He just claims that song
as he does with so many.” Various other artists have covered the song, including
Stromkern (1997), Anders Manga (2006), and The Red Paintings (2007). TB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Ederlezi
Goran Bregović (1988)
Ale Brider
Klezmatics (1988)
The traditional music of Eastern Europe’s Jewish communities, klezmer was the
soundtrack to weddings and festivities across the centuries until the Nazis
murdered the Ashkenazi Jews who produced these lovely, clarinet-led sounds.
The style disappeared from Europe, and was largely ignored in Israel; but it
survived in New York, albeit in an underground manner. The city’s large Jewish
diaspora meant many klezmer musicians migrated there and influenced all kinds
of American music: Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue,” for example, opens with a
wistful klezmer melody.
In the 1980s, young Jewish New York musicians began researching their
roots, resulting in a klezmer revival that spread into jazz, folk, and rock ’n’ roll.
The Klezmatics are the most celebrated of all klezmer revivalists and their
brilliant, irreverent approach has won them a wide, diverse audience. The
Klezmatics remind listeners of Jewish history and persecution, and link this to
the struggles of gays and other minority groups. Their album title, Shvaygn =
Toyt, translates as Silence = Death, a phrase associated with the failure of the
Reagan administration to deal with AIDS.
“Ale Brider” (We’re All Brothers) is a rousing labor anthem that found the
Klezmatics joined by Les Miserables Brass Band. No matter what your religion,
sexuality, or musical tastes are, it’s guaranteed to get you on the dance floor. GC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Love Shack
The B-52’s (1988)
Ten years after from the immortal “Rock Lobster” (1979), The B-52’s risked
becoming “that other band from Athens, Georgia.” While old pals R.E.M. were
blooming, The B-52’s hadn’t managed a memorable hit since “Private Idaho” in
1980. Bouncing Off the Satellites, in 1986, was a low point, both on the charts
and on a personal level.
Three years later, they made an amazing comeback with Cosmic Thing, a
multimillion-selling, Top Ten smash. That success can be credited almost
entirely to “Love Shack.” The song came from a demo recorded by guitarist/
keyboardist Keith Strickland. An attempt at adding vocals proved so
disappointing that “Love Shack” was nearly scrapped. However, reported
Rolling Stone, “They gave it one last shot the next day and nailed it on the first
take.”
“When we handed it in,” recalled Was, “I don’t think there was a single
person who said, ‘Hah! That’s the hit The B-52’s have been needing for the past
twelve years!’” They were, therefore, vindicated when it went gold and was
nominated for a Grammy. “Now maybe people won’t be saying we’re a novelty
band,” said Strickland.
A joyous blend of surf rock and new wave, “Love Shack” opens with Fred
Schneider’s robotic directions, before Kate Pierson soars in from on high. With
that, the party is on—climaxing with Cindy Wilson’s “Tin roof … rusted!” JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
A Little Respect
Erasure (1988)
With tattered hearts on sleeves, dance pop duo Erasure released their soul-
shattering love letter to an unrequited crush—and, in doing so, injected the
charts with a heavy hit of realism.
This wasn’t just any love letter. Andy Bell is credited as being one of the
first openly gay singers and his candor paid off, with legions of fans both
straight and gay. “If I hear a lyric from another song, and it moves me
emotionally, I think ‘That guy knows exactly what I’m going through,’” he told
the BBC. “And when you can do the same with one of your own lyrics, that’s the
best kind of writing you can do.”
Bell’s openness—something you might expect from a man so comfortable in
his own skin that he dresses in rubber catsuits onstage—isn’t the only reason “A
Little Respect” is so brilliant. Synth handyman Vince Clarke wrote Depeche
Mode’s first three smashes then played in Yazoo and The Assembly. Here, his
craftsmanship gives “A Little Respect” a bedrock Abba beat, ratcheting the
band’s pop kudos up a notch or two and making their slightly abstract style (see
“Sometimes” and “Who Needs Love Like That”) more accessible.
Surrounded at the time in droll electro doom and glossy pop from the Stock,
Aitken, and Waterman hit factory, it would have been easy for “A Little
Respect” to sound contrite. Instead it stood tall and sounded refreshingly human.
KBo
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Wicked Game
Chris Isaak (1989)
“I banged into it pretty quick. I wish they could all be that quick.”
Chris Isaak, 1991
Personal Jesus
Depeche Mode (1989)
On the whole, Depeche Mode’s seventh studio album was more restrained than
its stadium-sized predecessor, Music for the Masses (1987). However, Violator’s
opener—the booming “Personal Jesus”—was Depeche at their anthemic best.
Inspired by Priscilla Presley’s book Elvis and Me, Martin Gore’s lyrics were
taken at face value and dubbed blasphemous by some. “It’s a song about being a
Jesus for somebody else, someone to give you hope and care,” Gore told Spin
magazine. “[The book is] about how Elvis was her man and her mentor and how
often that happens in love relationships; how everybody’s heart is like a god in
some way.” Discerning listeners understood the irony in this tale of a supposed
savior—one who would answer a call and “make you a believer”—and read it as
cautionary advice against putting anyone on a pedestal. “No one is perfect,”
observed Gore, “and that’s not a very balanced view of someone, is it?”
The song rings with appropriately messianic significance, thanks to an
industrial sound, crafted by producer Flood and keyboard player Alan Wilder,
that marries synth-pop and radio-friendly rock. Dave Gahan’s vocals are little
short of gigantic, complemented by the first prominent use of guitar on a
Depeche hit. “They wanted,” confirmed Flood, “to push into new territory.”
“Personal Jesus” was unleashed when Depeche Mode were approaching
worldwide domination. The song was a smash that—combined with the follow-
up “Enjoy the Silence”—helped make Violator the biggest album of their career.
Marilyn Manson and Johnny Cash covered the number, and—decades later—
fans still worship their “Personal Jesus.” JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Soy gitano
Camarón de la Isla (1989)
I Am the Resurrection
The Stone Roses (1989)
Writer | Ian Brown, John Squire Producer | John Leckie Label | Silvertone
Album | The Stone Roses (1989)
Part swinging jab at religion, part “murderous attack” of a band associate, part
instrumental wig-out, “I Am the Resurrection” sealed The Stone Roses’ classic
debut album and confirmed their swaggering self-confidence.
It was the final track recorded during the Mancunians’ last session with
producer John Leckie at Rockfield Studios, Wales. Ian Brown’s voice is full of
the bite that Oasis front man Liam Gallagher later tried desperately to best. The
lyrics—which Brown claimed were inspired by a painted notice outside a
church, and are a dig at the Catholic church in particular—also capture the
Madchester scene of which the Roses were godfathers. “Don’t waste your
words, I don’t need anything from you / I don’t care where you’ve been or what
you plan to do,” is Brown at his arrogant best, aware that his band was creating
something nigh-on unsurpassable.
However, “I Am the Resurrection” is perhaps best remembered for its final
four minutes: a showcase for Hendrix-inspired guitarist John Squire, thunderous
bassist Mani, and funky drummer Reni. Mani informed NME in 2009 that he,
Squire, and Reni nailed the instrumental coda in one perfect take. Leckie,
however, remembers it differently: “We spent a good few days arranging and
rehearsing that end,” he told the BBC, “so it sounded like something special.”
JM
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Me Myself and I
De La Soul (1989)
“We were surprised how big it got. Sometimes the simplest thing is
what people can relate to.”
Posdnous, 2009
The offbeat humor, Afrocentric interests, and jazzy hooks of the Native Tongues
posse—a loose collective of friends and contemporaries, including De La Soul,
A Tribe Called Quest, Queen Latifah, and The Jungle Brothers—heralded hip-
hop’s “D.A.I.S.Y. Age” (da inner sound, y’all). A bewildered media
pigeonholed them as hippies, simply because their clothes, music, and lyrics
didn’t fit rap stereotypes back in the day.
De La Soul spelled out their frustrations on “Ain’t Hip to be Labeled a
Hippie,” the flip side to one of several singles issued from their epochal debut
album, 3 Feet High and Rising. The A-side took a more positive stance,
parlaying a proud statement of their oddball selves into the Long Island troupe’s
first R&B chart-topper.
Producer Prince Paul lifted liberally from the golden age of funk, cramming
in everything from the rubbery synth intro of Funkadelic’s “(Not Just) Knee
Deep,” to the grouchy granny from The Ohio Players’ “The Worm” and the
groove of Edwin Birdsong’s “Rapper Dapper Snapper.” Over this glorious party,
the trio celebrated their individualism with winning wit and smarts. Trugoy
(Jolicoeur) declared “De La Soul is from the soul”; Posdnuos (Mercer) chided
the press for calling him a hippy because he wore glasses. “We were just being
ourselves,” Trugoy told Rolling Stone in 2009.
A vibrant video furthered the point. In a school detention, De La Soul’s
medallion and baseball cap-sporting classmates mock them for their African
necklaces and asymmetrical haircuts. Still the hippy tag lingered—in response,
the group illustrated the harder De La Soul Is Dead (1991) with a broken
flowerpot, formally announcing the demise of the D.A.I.S.Y. Age. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Epic
Faith No More (1989)
Writer | Mike Bordin, Roddy Bottum, Billy Gould, Jim Martin, Mike Patton
Producer | Matt Wallace, Faith No More
Label | Slash
Album | The Real Thing (1989)
Influenced by: Fight like a Brave • Red Hot Chili Peppers (1987)
Influence on: My Name Is Mud • Primus (1993)
Covered by: The Automatic (2007) • Atreyu (2008) • Love Is All
(2008)
Other key track: Midlife Crisis (1992)
“Acid-head dirtbags” was how drummer Mike Bordin referred to himself and his
Faith No More colleagues. It was probably one of the only labels this
wonderfully perverse band allowed in close proximity. The funk-metal tag didn’t
sit well with them, and—never lost for words—Bordin remarked, “We’re not a
heavy metal band because we don’t have jack-off guitar solos every song and we
don’t have some dick singing fake opera.” Nonetheless, Jim Martin’s six-string
sound was central to the genesis of “Epic.” “I was just noodling around on the
demo,” the oddball axeman told Guitar magazine, “and there was one little part
at the beginning of the solo that grabbed me. Sometimes, that’s all it takes.”
The replacement of Chuck Mosley with Mike Patton as front man gave the
group extra dimensions, including lyrics whose opaque nature had fans
struggling to decipher their meaning. Interpretations of the song duly range from
“success” to “masturbation.” Just as oblique was the “Epic” video—featuring a
flopping fish and an exploding piano—which was played on what keyboard
player Roddy Bottum called “stress rotation” on MTV. (“That’s heavier than
heavy rotation,” he quipped to Select.) However, it all added up to a Top Ten
U.S. chart placing.
Most groups would have used such success as a jugular vein into the
mainstream, but acclaim didn’t sit well with Faith No More. “That this band is
now getting support from the straight populace—that’s kind of erotic, kind of
weird,” said Patton. “We sold a lot of records and we had the radio hit . . .”
bassist Billy Gould told Terrorizer. “Maybe we second-guessed ourselves a little
bit, to try and keep our intentions pure.” CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Like a Prayer
Madonna (1989)
“I really love ‘Like a Prayer’ because it was the first one I learned
every word to.”
Britney Spears, 2008
“That song means a lot more to me than ‘Like a Virgin,’” Madonna told
Billboard’s Craig Rosen. “I wrote it and it’s from my heart.”
One of the star’s most enduring and biggest-selling singles—more than five
million copies sold worldwide—”Like a Prayer” was co-written with producer
Patrick Leonard. “Pat had the chord changes for the verse and the chorus . . .”
she told SongTalk. “I really wanted to do something really gospel oriented and a
cappella . . . just my voice and an organ. So we started fooling around with the
song, and we’d take away all the instrumentation so that my voice was naked.
Then we came up with the bridge together, and we had the idea to have a choir.
In almost everything I do with Pat, if it’s up-tempo, there’s a Latin rhythm or
feeling to it. . . . We both think that we were Latin in another life.”
The accompanying video—featuring burning crosses, masturbation, and an
interracial plot—prompted an inevitable outcry. (The Andrae Crouch gospel
choir, who sang on the song, refused to appear in it.) The controversial content
of the video also resulted in the canning of a tie-in commercial for Pepsi-Cola in
which the song appeared. At the MTV Video Music Awards in 1989, Madonna
gleefully thanked Pepsi “for causing so much controversy!”
The artwork on the single cover features an illustration of the icon by the
star’s brother Christopher and the letters “M.L.V.C.” (Madonna Louise Veronica
Ciccone). A displaced letter “P,” near her heart, distances Madonna from her ex-
husband Sean Penn—reflecting music that deals with the anguish of love and
presents a more human persona than before. SS
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“Our music is not even about having a future—but, right now, we’re
it.”
Shaun Ryder, 1989
After the demise of The Smiths, the Manchester scene had a Technicolor
overhaul, and the result was Madchester. While The Stone Roses jingle-jangled,
the Happy Mondays staggered from studio to stage, creating the funkiest white
rock of its time.
“Wrote for Luck” had been released in 1988 as the lead single from the
fantastic Bummed, but two remixes—renamed “W.F.L.”—shot the group into
the spotlight. The producers were all-important because, as singer Shaun Ryder
quipped, the group’s unfamiliarity with music production meant that a mixing
desk might as well have been a machine for cutting sheet metal. The Martin
Hannett–produced original was handed to Erasure’s Vince Clarke, who
transformed it into “W.F.L.” However, the version that secured the Mondays’
fortunes was the “Think about the Future” mix, blessed with what Ryder
described as Paul Oakenfold’s “smooth mellowness.” “There was a vibe,” said
Oakenfold, “and the vibe was a good vibe.” Ryder’s voice was raised, giving his
words—part poetry, part thuggery—deserved prominence. Oakenfold, he
observed, “brought that sort of trance to it. . . . All the right ingredients.”
Following this triumph, hailed by NME as the year’s best dance record,
Oakenfold inspired the Mondays to even greater heights as co-producer of Pills
’n’ Thrills and Bellyaches (1990). And while the group ultimately crashed and
burned, Oakenfold became the world’s most celebrated DJ. “It was Happy
Mondays,” he told Soundgenerator. “I was doing all my own music. I never had
any desire to remix or produce anyone. . . . The record company asked me and I
said, ‘Yeah, I’ll have a go.’ And that’s how it happened. And then that blew up
and then everyone was asking me.” CB
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“I looked under ‘G’ for ‘guitarist’ in the Yellow Pages and Johnny’s
was the first name in there.”
Bernard Sumner, 1999
“It didn’t sound like The Smiths and it didn’t sound like New Order,” observed
Johnny Marr. “We’d done something really unique.” The Smiths guitarist first
worked with Bernard Sumner on Quando Quango’s 1984 single “Atom Rock,”
co-produced by the New Order front man. “We just knew each other in passing,”
Marr recalled, “like a lot of musicians in Manchester.” The pair reunited in
Electronic, whose debut single also boasted Pet Shop Boy Neil Tennant. The
latter, Sumner told Neil Chase, “said that he’d heard that I was making a record
with Johnny and he’d like to be involved with it. I’ve always been a big fan of
Pet Shop Boys’ music and so I was very pleased.”
The lavish song combines—to sublime effect—acoustic guitar, piano
(inspired by Marr and Sumner’s love of Italian house music), sweeping strings,
and a captivating chorus. The lyrics—opening with “I’ve been walking in the
rain just to get wet on purpose / I’ve been forcing myself not to forget just to feel
worse”—were inspired by Smiths front man Morrissey. “‘Getting Away with
It,’” recalled Tennant, “is looking at Morrissey’s persona of being miserable . . .
and saying that he’s been getting away with it for years. It’s meant to be
humorous.”
Electronic’s “supergroup” credentials were given further credence on
“Getting Away with It” with drumming by ABC’s David Palmer and
orchestration from Anne Dudley of Art of Noise. The song did not appear on
initial U.K. pressings of the band’s debut album in 1991, but bolstered reissues.
“I didn’t know what the hell to do after The Smiths,” Marr reflected in 2006, “so
Electronic taught me to trust my instincts and make the bullshit part of being in a
band secondary.” JL
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Kim Deal came to the Pixies via a classified advertisement for a bassist who
enjoyed the music of both Peter, Paul & Mary and Hüsker Dü. With “Monkey
Gone to Heaven,” the Pixies combine those unlikely influences, but that isn’t all
that the group tossed into the blend.
In under three minutes, and fewer than one hundred words, singer-songwriter
Charles “Frank Black” Thompson applies his surrealist imagery to such
environmental concerns as the greenhouse effect, ozone depletion, and water
pollution. There are also references to what he told The Alternative Press was
“what I understand to be Hebrew numerology. . . . I didn’t go to the library and
figure it out.”
The group sugar the pill with one of their most memorable melodies, a folky
chorus, their patented loud-soft structure, and another gripping lead from
guitarist Joey Santiago. The Pixies also introduce guest musicians in the form of
a string section (two cellists and two violinists): a surprise that somehow comes
off like the most natural addition in the world. “Kim was playing a grand piano
in the studio, picking the strings with a plectrum . . .” producer Gil Norton told
Sound on Sound. “We ended up putting that on the chorus. Then I thought,
‘Let’s add strings to that, they’ll sound fantastic.’”
“Monkey Gone to Heaven” gave the group their first hit in their homeland,
reaching No. 5 on the U.S. Modern Rock chart. The song—combined with the
follow-up single “Here Comes Your Man”—made Doolittle the band’s biggest-
selling album. Still, the record’s sales were dwarfed by its influence: Doolittle
provided a roadmap for the alt-rock explosion of the Nineties. JiH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Can’t Be Sure
The Sundays (1989)
For an understated, measured song, The Sundays’ debut single caused a stir.
Excited critics thought that their quest for a new Smiths had finally come to an
end. “Can’t Be Sure” has none of Morrissey’s bite and little of Johnny Marr’s
swagger, save a certain jangle to David Gavurin’s guitar. However, closer
listening reveals Harriet Wheeler’s blank sarcasm—first in the song’s wry
signature line (“England my country, the home of the free Such miserable
weather”—quoted onstage in 2006 by none other than Morrissey), and then
“Did you know desire’s a terrible thing? The worst that I can find.”
The Sundays’ nearer neighbors were the Cocteau Twins, with Wheeler’s
little girl tone emulating Liz Fraser’s swoops, and Gavurin building spirals of
guitar on two-note refrains—gorgeous atmospherics created with simple tools.
Lyrically, however, The Sundays were more open.
Peculiarly English as it is, the song made an impact across the Atlantic.
“There is a ‘people power’ thing about the American music scene that’s quite
encouraging,” Gavurin told Vox. “If people ring in and say, ‘I like that!’ they’ll
play it.” However, The Sundays were devils for losing impetus, and a reluctance
to come up with new material wasted their rich promise. Despite a hit reworking
of “Here’s Where the Story Ends” by Tin Tin Out, and a brief renaissance with
1997’s “Summertime,” The Sundays became a curio. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Lullaby
The Cure (1989)
Free Fallin’
Tom Petty (1989)
Writer | Tom Petty, Jeff Lynne Producer | Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, Mike
Campbell Label | MCA
Album | Full Moon Fever (1989)
Nothing Compares 2 U
Sinéad O’Connor (1989)
Writer | Prince
Producer | S. O’Connor, N. Hooper
Label | Ensign
Album | I Do Not Want What I Haven’t Got (1989)
Amid his success with Purple Rain, Prince penned “Nothing Compares 2 U” for
his protégés, The Family. Credits for their album were distributed among the
group, but Prince laid claim to this ballad: “Kind of an indication,” said
saxophonist Eric Leeds, “of how personal he felt about that song.”
Five years later, a feisty, shaven-headed girl from Dublin followed up her
cult favorite The Lion and the Cobra with the blockbusting I Do Not Want What
I Haven’t Got. The album was propelled into the stratosphere by a bare,
beautiful rendition of Prince’s composition. “I think we just took that song as far
as we could,” he told Rolling Stone, “then someone else was supposed to come
along and pick it up.”
While Soul II Soul’s strings entranced listeners, TV viewers were captured
by the emotional video: a close-up of its star, singing direct to camera. At the
climax, O’Connor let tears roll down her cheeks. She has described these tears
variously as acted and as spontaneous—but, as she told Q, “Acting isn’t
pretending, it’s using your past experiences, summoning them up to tell a story
that’s not a lie but the truth.” The striking video helped the song to No. 1 around
the world, and at the MTV Awards in 1990, it won Video of the Year—a first for
a woman. This success prompted Prince to play it himself at gigs. However,
O’Connor claimed she fell out with him after he objected to her swearing. “I told
him to go fuck himself,” she said. SO
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Rap in the late 1980s was polarized between N.W.A. and Public Enemy’s sonic
assaults, and MC Hammer and the Fresh Prince’s radio-friendly jams. Digital
Underground—busting through a door left ajar by De La Soul—offered a new
way: the way of the funky.
The group wore their influences proudly on their sleeves: the groundbreaking
grooves and wigged out worldview of George Clinton’s Parliament-Funkadelic
empire. Inspired by Clinton’s maxim, “All the grown adult actors have come and
went, but Bugs Bunny is still runnin’ strong,” producer Gregory “Shock-G”
Jacobs created his alter ego: Humpty Hump. The character “started from the
Warner Bros. cartoons,” he said, “and it evolved from there.”
Digital Underground’s debut “Underwater Rimes/Your Life’s a Cartoon”
announced their intentions, but “The Humpty Dance” brought them to
prominence. Tommy Boy label president Monica Lynch had suggested that
Humpty Hump be given his own track. So, one night while the rest of the group
went clubbing, Shock-G stayed in the studio—and, blending a Parliament groove
with a beat from Sly & The Family Stone’s “Sing a Simple Song,” created “The
Humpty Dance.” Wittily scandalous lyrics completed the classic.
A massive club hit, it soared into the U.S. pop chart. Producers seized upon
its superbly squelchy sonics, which turned up in tracks by giants such as Jay-Z,
Ice Cube, and Will Smith. Digital Underground even recorded “The Humpty
Dance Awards,” in which they thanked everyone who had sampled it. The song
had another legacy, too: in appearances to promote “The Humpty Dance,” the
Underground were joined by a young dancer edging his way to stardom: Tupac
Shakur. DC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“It didn’t really register with me at the time. I didn’t understand call-
girls and naughties.”
Dusty Springfield, 1989
The Pet Shops Boys breathed new life into Dusty Springfield’s career by
requesting her presence on their smash hit of 1987, “What Have I Done to
Deserve This?” They then set about organizing a full-scale return for the British
soul star, which included collaborating on “Nothing Has Been Proved” for
Scandal—the 1989 movie about Christine Keeler and the Profumo Affair.
Scandal and Springfield were a bittersweet combination: when the scandal had
come to a head in 1963, Springfield had been embarking on her solo career.
“We suggested Dusty,” Neil Tennant said, “because she’s a voice from the
Sixties.” Twenty-six years later, a careworn Springfield was looking back to a
time when she was on top. Of course, “Nothing Has Been Proved” is not about
her—the Pet Shop Boys had even made a demo themselves. The uncluttered
lyric is a concise and fluid telling of the affair, delivered as if Springfield were a
diarist or newsreader—even down to “‘Please Please Me’s number one.” The
detail anchors the whole story to its mundane setting. “It’s a scandal,” fluttered
Tennant in the background, “such a scandal”—ironic to the core.
Springfield invests the tawdry unraveling of the outrage with convincing
emotion, her smoky voice—accompanied by Angelo Badalamenti’s subtle
orchestration—compelling us to listen to the lyric as we would watch a film. The
tension is ramped up with, “In the news, a suicide . . .” and a key change in the
third verse/bridge. Deftly handled, the dry exposition turns into drama.
“We’ve all got things to do,” sighed Springfield at the fade, bringing us
down to earth again. Courtney Pine’s saxophone eases the song away, back to
the daily drudge, the melodrama over. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
“It’s less about places than about a dialogue between the people on
the record.”
Paul Buchanan, 1995
Four albums in a quarter of a century may seem slothful, but Scottish trio The
Blue Nile’s music is so exquisitely crafted that it is a wonder it makes it out of
the studio at all. “Headlights on the Parade” is the centerpiece of Hats—the
night-and-lights classic that followed five years after their acclaimed debut A
Walk across the Rooftops. Like its parent album, “Headlights on the Parade”
shimmers in the rain, bristles with romance, and mocks its refined setting with
real passion from singer Paul Buchanan.
Buchanan’s soul-soaked croon lifts The Blue Nile from their roots as a
showcase band for hi-fi manufacturer Linn. Their meticulously programmed
synthesizers sound fantastic, but—as with Alison Moyet in Yazoo—the human
element raises the art. In “Headlights on the Parade,” our protagonist asks for
trust but admits that words are not enough. It “would be easy to say I love you,”
sighs Buchanan, searching for a way to express himself. The headlights “light up
the way.”
The Blue Nile breathe autumn, drizzly dusks, and trysts under streetlamps.
“We wanted to make music that was believable to people who had real lives,”
explained Buchanan in 2006. “Headlights on the Parade”—at six minutes, hardly
radio-friendly—bolstered their list of non-hit singles, including the equally
heartrending “Tinseltown in the Rain” in 1983 and “The Downtown Lights” in
1989.
Hats is a grown-up record, creased by experience. But songs like
“Headlights on the Parade”—with its motorik pulse and chiming, fluttering
synths—sound almost Balearic. Unlikely as it seems, the deft playing and mood
setting of Buchanan, Robert Bell, and Paul Joseph Moore can turn neon lights
into Ibizan sunsets. MH
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Writer | Jeff Ament, Bruce Fairweather, Greg Gilmore, Stone Gossard, Andrew
Wood
Producer | Mark Dearnley
Label | Stardog
Album | N/A
Seattle’s Mother Love Bone were rooted in the sound that made their hometown
famous: bassist Jeff Ament and guitarist Stone Gossard had been in grunge
pioneers Green River. However, their influences and ambitions were far from
the sludgy punk and metal of their contemporaries. Thanks to flamboyant front
man Andrew Wood, Mother Love Bone were a grander affair: wedding glam
metal flourishes to classic rock greatness.
Wood wore an unabashed love for Freddie Mercury and Elton John on his
lamé sleeve, and their gift for impassioned balladry seeped into “Chloe
Dancer/Crown of Thorns”—the standout track from the group’s debut EP, Shine
(1989).
Over melancholic piano, Wood sings of thwarted but undying love, nobly
denying that his cause is truly lost. As the intro gives way to “Crown of Thorns,”
the band stir up a nuanced groove that builds to heroic crescendos, with
breathtaking grace and tender power.
An edited version of the song appeared on their debut album, Apple (1990),
but Wood—aged twenty-four—was dead of a heroin overdose before it hit the
shelves. Mother Love Bone’s legacy lived on, however, in Ament and Gossard’s
next band, Pearl Jam. Meanwhile, “Chloe Dancer/Crown of Thorns” featured on
the soundtrack of Cameron Crowe’s movie Singles (1992), alongside
“Would?”—Alice in Chains’ tribute to the late singer. SC
See all songs from the 1980s
1980s
Rhythm Nation
Janet Jackson (1989)
“Children are the future,” intoned Janet Jackson at a press conference in 1989.
“Yeah,” replied a cynical voice, “future record buyers.” Critics may have been
unconvinced, but the public had no problem with the socially conscious Janet:
Rhythm Nation topped the U.S. chart, sold six million copies in that country
alone, and became the first album to spawn seven Top Five hits.
“The thing we set out to do was not make Control Part Two . . .” producer
Jimmy Jam told Billboard’s Craig Rosen, referring to Jackson’s hit album of
1986. “The actual Rhythm Nation idea wasn’t formed until about six or seven
songs into the project. . . . We were watching a lot of CNN and there were a lot
of world events that were happening that were screwed up. That was on Janet’s
mind while we were making the album.” “There was a major drug issue back
then,” Jackson recalled to The Times in 2009. “Crack cocaine was being
introduced in the inner cities, and it was cheap. I remember seeing something on
CNN about a little kid who was homeless, sleeping in the back of a car. And that
was what it all sparked from.”
Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis’s pounding, grinding music—based on a
sample from Sly & The Family Stone’s bittersweet “Thank You (Falettinme Be
Mice Elf Agin)”—matched the stark lyrics. Jackson’s brother Michael suggested
the military look of the song’s video, and an iconic image was born. BM
See all songs from the 1980s
1990s
• Nirvana and other Pacific Northwest bands introduce grunge in 1991
• Death Row Records, founded in 1991, releases West Coast rap music
• The Spice Girls form in 1994 and become the best-selling girl group
• Oasis and Blur battle to dominate the Britpop music scene in 1995
• The 1997 Buena Vista Social Club album reinvigorates world music
Contents
Painkiller
Loaded
Iceblink Luck
Birdhouse in Your Soul
Energy Flash
Bonita Applebum
Little Fluffy Clouds
Three Days
Dub Be Good to Me
Kool Thing
Only Love Can Break Your Heart
Crazy
Mustt Mustt (Lost in his Work)
Diaraby Nene
1952 Vincent Black Lightning
Balada conducatorolui
Calling All Angels
I Can’t Make You Love Me
Jesus Built My Hotrod
No More Tears
Smells Like Teen Spirit
Summertime
Give It Away
One
Losing My Religion
Life Is a Highway
Always on the Run
Treaty
Unfinished Sympathy
Justified & Ancient
Enter Sandman
Weather with You
You Got the Love
Blind Willie McTell
Move Any Mountain–Progen 91
How I Could Just Kill a Man
Cop Killer
Pretend We’re Dead
My Drug Buddy
Shake Your Head
Motorcycle Emptiness
Creep
Killing in the Name
Connected
Inkanyezi Nezazi
Sodade
Remedy
No Rain
Walk
Real Love
Deep Cover
Out of Space
Didi
Animal Nitrate
La solitudine
Rumba Argelina
Loser
French Disko
Into Dust
Rid of Me
Laid
Open Up
Possession
Cannonball
C.R.E.A.M.
Because the Night
Ching söörtükchülerining yryzy
It Ain’t Hard to Tell
Inner City Life
End of a Century
Connection
Confide in Me
Your Ghost
Doll Parts
7 Seconds
Live Forever
Cut Your Hair
All Apologies
Hurt
Black Hole Sun
Interstate Love Song
Waterfalls
Cornflake Girl
Hallelujah
Red Right Hand
Sabotage
The Most Beautiful Girl in the World
Sour Times
Army of Me
Champagne Supernova
The Fever
Kung Fu
1979
Common People
Where the Wild Roses Grow
Insomnia
Scream
Hell Is Round the Corner
Born Slippy Nuxx
You Oughta Know
Back for Good
Stupid Girl
Miss Sarajevo
River of Deceit
Dear Mama
The Bomb! (These Sounds Fall into My Mind)
Guilty by Association
A irmandade das estrelas
Brooklyn’s Finest
Novocaine for the Soul
Ready or Not
Firestarter
Professional Widow (Armand’s Star Trunk Funkin’ Mix)
Nancy Boy
Devil’s Haircut
I’ll Be There for You . . .
The Beautiful People
Criminal
Crash into Me
On & On
Woo-Hah!! Got You All in Check
No Diggity
Woke Up This Morning
Block Rockin’ Beats
Breakdown
Chan Chan
Between the Bars
Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)
4,3,2,1
Şimarik
Spice Up Your Life
Given to Fly
Paranoid Android
Come to Daddy (Pappy Mix)
Never Ever
Song 2
Time of Your Life (Good Riddance)
Broken Heart
Into My Arms
Doo Wop (That Thing)
Kelly Watch the Stars
You Get What You Give
Music Sounds Better with You
Erase/Rewind
Teardrop
Iris
Bok Espok
Save Me
No One Will Ever Love You
Surfacing
Scar Tissue
Ms. Fat Booty
Caught Out There
Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?
I Try
U Don’t Know Me
Race for the Prize
1990s
Painkiller
Judas Priest (1990)
The dawning of the Nineties should have spelled the end for Judas Priest. Every
one of their albums had gone gold in the Eighties, and they had emerged
victorious from a difficult court case that accused them of inciting a suicide
attempt. But they had been metal gods since 1974, so surely it was time to let
Megadeth take over? “We’re at the point, really, where I think what our fans
want is more of a failure than a success,” rued guitarist K. K. Downing to metal
magazine Kerrang! “They want a record that’s gonna fail, but they’re gonna
love it to death!”
Downing was ultimately vindicated. After the sonic detour Turbo in 1986,
and the inconsistent Ram it Down of 1988, Painkiller was acclaimed as Judas
Priest’s best album ever. Warning is served by the first fifteen seconds of the
opening title track: new recruit Scott Travis (formerly of Racer X) smashing
seven shades of hell out of his drums. Then comes the razor-sharp guitars of
Downing and Glenn Tipton, and the unmistakable shriek of singer Rob Halford.
Village Voice summed it up: “[Halford] has been howling about the same law-
breaking nightcrawling beasts . . . while K. K. Downing and Glenn Tipton flutter
and twiddle . . . for the last sixteen years. They’ve just never done it this
urgently.”
Painkiller, and its title track in particular, proved that Judas Priest were far
from finished, although some old-school fans were bewildered by the material.
“We started touring with five tracks off that album,” Downing told Classic Rock
Revisited, “and, by the time we finished, we were playing two. It was a bit of a
hard sell.” Two decades on, however, fans new and old rank “Painkiller” as a
pivotal moment in metal. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Loaded
Primal Scream (1990)
“We’re a rock ’n’ roll band, but we like going to clubs and getting
pretty wasted.”
Bobby Gillespie, 1991
Influenced by: Sympathy for the Devil • The Rolling Stones (1968)
Influence on: Butcher Blues • Kasabian (2004)
Other key tracks: Higher Than the Sun (1991) • Inner Flight (1991) •
Movin’ on Up (1991) • Rocks (1994) • Burning Wheel (1997) •
Kowalski (1997) • Star (1997)
With a new perspective on an old song, Primal Scream and Andy Weatherall
instantly opened up all sorts of possibilities for the merging of rock with dance.
On a whim, the Scream gave “I’m Losing More Than I’ll Ever Have”—from
their self-titled, second album—to DJ and producer Weatherall, hoping he could
exploit its full potential.
His overhaul was front-ended with Peter Fonda’s defiant drop-out speech
from the Roger Corman movie of 1966, The Wild Angels (previously used by
Mudhoney on the Superfuzz Bigmuff EP in 1988). However, Weatherall’s real
genius was to transform a mournful lament into an influential indie-dance classic
—and Primal Scream’s first Top Twenty U.K. hit to boot. (In its wake,
Weatherall’s remix of My Bloody Valentine’s “You Made Me Realise” passed
largely unnoticed. Years later, however, the Valentines’ main man Kevin Shields
himself remixed—and briefly joined—the Scream.)
The producer has been modest about the part he played in the song’s success:
“It was just random elements coming together. I was just one of them that came
in, sort of bumping into doors.” However, singer Bobby Gillespie saw how
powerful the combination had been, acknowledging that “Loaded” was a turning
point in the group’s career: “We’ve always written great songs, but we’ve never
known how to turn them into hit singles. He [Weatherall] can take that
quintessential element from one of our songs and make it really focused. He’s
got vision and inspiration.” To top it off, the Scream made a memorable showing
on BBC TV’s Top of the Pops—their demeanor suggesting that the band had
gotten fully into the spirit of the song. CB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Iceblink Luck
Cocteau Twins (1990)
“Heaven or Las Vegas is quite uplifting, isn’t it? I wonder how that
happened.”
Liz Fraser, 2000
Vaunted as much for singer Liz Fraser’s gobbledygook as for their dense dream-
pop, the Cocteau Twins found a third way in 1990. Suddenly, on their sixth
album, Heaven or Las Vegas, they displayed the will to make their music
accessible to a wider audience, and—crucially—Fraser’s lyrics became
comprehensible.
That’s not to say the band began dealing in straightforward love songs.
However, “Iceblink Luck”—with its “You, yourself, and your father. . . . You’re
really both bonesetters / Thank you for mending me babies”—offered emotional
insight, particularly in light of the birth of Fraser and guitarist Robin Guthrie’s
daughter a year earlier. “As soon as I got pregnant,” Fraser told Select, “I don’t
know what happened, but I suddenly started to realize what things mattered. . . .
Suddenly I had confidence which I’d never ever had in my life.”
That the Cocteaus were dealing in the personal was unexpected. Fans were
not alienated, however. There was no let-up in Fraser’s soaring voice, which
swoops on the verse. Then, double-tracked, it turns an earworm of a chorus into
an anthem, ever more ecstatic with each iteration. In Guthrie and Simon
Raymonde’s chiming music there is a fresh clarity to the production: crisper
beats and sparkling guitar enhance a melody that suggests a hit. “In a way, we
just made the same record over and over again,” Guthrie conceded in 2000. “We
just did it with a different level of confidence.” Enhanced by experience,
“Iceblink Luck” represented the Cocteau Twins’ finest hour—its tenderness and
relative transparency proving that they could now speak to people without
compromising their essential, bewitching mystery. MH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“Birdhouse in Your Soul” probably remains the only song written from the point
of view of a blue, canary-shaped nightlight. Nonetheless, insisted John Linnell—
one half of “the two Johns”—“We don’t want it to sound weird. That isn’t the
idea.”
Linnell and John Flansburgh were friends who began making music together
in New York after college. Eventually signed to Elektra, the duo snared the
mainstream with their third album, Flood. With its chirpy charms and engaging
video, “Birdhouse in Your Soul” flew up the U.K. chart. At home, Flansburgh
told popculturecorn.com, “People are familiar with the song, but it never
charted. I think probably the main reason people know it is because it got MTV
play.”
“The melody and chords were cooked up years earlier,” Linnell told Rolling
Stone, “and the lyrics had to be shoehorned in to match the melody, which
explains why the words are so oblique—I mean beautiful.” The song’s trumpet
solo, reported Rolling Stone, “is sampled from a studio session by Frank
London, who played the memorable trumpet-plunger hook in LL Cool J’s
‘Going Back to Cali.’”
The group’s lyrics were often subject to multiple interpretations. “Some of
our songs are very hard to explain . . .” admitted Flansburgh, “[But] I feel like
we could write a song with the title ‘I Wanna Fuck You’ and people would still
say, ‘I don’t understand . . . explain to me what that song means.’” SO
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Energy Flash
Joey Beltram (1990)
Bonita Applebum
A Tribe Called Quest (1990)
“Bonita Applebum” was by no means rap’s first love song, but few offered
seduction with the sophistication of New York’s A Tribe Called Quest. With the
vocals drenched in backward echo, their rhymes sound like intimate whispers,
setting up rapper Q-Tip as a lover man for the 1990s—a considerate partner
promising to kiss his girl “where some brothers won’t” and a willing practitioner
of safe sex—“If you need ’em, I got crazy prophylactics.”
Q-Tip could hardly fail in his quest for Bonita, reputedly a girl he knew from
high school. His lustful poetry is wrapped in a dulcet bedroom groove sampled
from “Daylight,” by Roy Ayers’s protégés RAMP, while an erotic sitar lick,
lifted from Rotary Connection’s “Memory Band,” caresses the foreground.
Cannonball Adderley’s “Soul Virgo” is among the other sources.
A poppier remix, laying Tip’s vocals over the beat to “Why”—Carly
Simon’s 1982 collaboration with Chic’s Bernard Edwards and Niles Rodgers—
entranced many listeners. However, it is the original “Bonita Applebum” that is
the keeper, stirring up a subtle, downbeat mood that A Tribe Called Quest mined
further on the acclaimed, jazz-soaked The Low End Theory (1991). Indeed,
“Bonita Applebum” is the track that blueprinted Tribe’s unique, jazzy sound—
making them standard-bearers for rap and the song a hip-hop standard. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
At the beginning of the 1990s, along came chill-out music. Two former punks—
Alex Paterson and Jimmy Cauty, mutual acquaintances of Killing Joke bassist-
turned-producer Youth—led the pack. Their baby, The Orb, married samples
from a huge library of sources to pulsating, ambient sound.
The gorgeous “Little Fluffy Clouds” was Paterson and Youth’s first venture
after Cauty split to focus on the more dance-oriented KLF, and the first chill-out
track to infiltrate the mainstream. It opens, as Paterson informed Melody Maker,
with “a [BBC] Radio Four interview I did about ambient music.” However, the
title and recurring speech comes from singer Rickie Lee Jones, from an
interview on a promo edition of her album Flying Cowboys (1989). During the
interview, Jones recalled cloud formations from the desert skies of her youth, all
“purple and red and on fire.” Jones’s publishers promptly demanded
compensation; while the singer was obliged to point out that her apparently
stoned tone was actually because she had a cold.
Among the song’s other samples is an extract from a piece by modern
classical composer Steve Reich. “There in the middle of it,” Reich recalls, “is
my composition ‘Electric Counterpoint.’ Since The Orb were not very well
known at the time, I suggested to [Reich’s label] Nonesuch that they not go after
them for money, which probably upped my stock in the remix world.” JMc See
all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Three Days
Jane’s Addiction (1990)
Influenced by: The Song Remains the Same • Led Zeppelin (1973)
Influence on: Boatman • DJ Frane (1999)
Other key tracks: Been Caught Stealing (1990) • Classic Girl (1990)
• Stop! (1990)
“What could beat two days of sex and drugs and violent movies?” singer Perry
Farrell asked an audience in 1987. “Three days of sex, drugs, and violent
movies.” This set the scene for his band’s most astounding song: a near eleven-
minute epic that twisted and turned from poetry to Zeppelinesque classic rock. It
originated with a bass line conceived by Eric Avery in 1985, before he founded
Jane’s Addiction with Farrell the following year. After modifications in 1986,
“Three Days” was played live in 1987, mothballed for a year, then extended and
slowed down in preparation for Ritual de lo Habitual.
Its lyrics concerned Xiola Bleu, an ex-lover of Farrell’s, who stayed with the
singer and his partner, Casey Niccoli, when she attended her father’s funeral in
early 1986. Farrell never saw Xiola again: she died alone, aged nineteen, of an
overdose in June 1987—hence “I miss you, my dear Xiola” in his spoken
introduction. “She was very young, very intelligent, and very beautiful . . .”
Niccoli told Details. “So we kind of put her on a pedestal.”
By 1990, Jane’s Addiction were falling apart. Their headlining sets at
Farrell’s Lollapalooza festival degenerated into fistfights, and the band split in
1991. Guitarist Dave Navarro later joined the Red Hot Chili Peppers, with whom
he occasionally played excerpts of “Three Days” after their song “Warped.”
Recording “Three Days” provided a welcome shining moment amid the
group’s disintegration. “The whole band came in and played ‘Three Days’ from
beginning to end,” recalled co-producer Dave Jerden. “That was the last time
they played together in the studio, and the only time on that record. It was a
magic moment.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Dub Be Good to Me
Beats International (1990)
“It’s got scratching noises on it and a bass line that doesn’t follow the
rest of the song.”
Norman Cook, 1990
Kool Thing
Sonic Youth (1990)
Crazy
Seal (1990)
Writer | Seal
Producer | Trevor Horn
Label | ZTT
Album | Seal (1991)
“Seal and I exchanged sweet emails when I was about to cover his
song.”
Alanis Morissette, 2005
Writer | Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan Producer | Michael Brook Label | Real World
Album | Musst Musst (1990)
An extraordinary singer with the humility of a saint, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
became Pakistan’s premier cultural envoy after giving its modal qawwali music
worldwide exposure. This was largely because of his association with the
WOMAD organization and Real World label—both the brainchild of Peter
Gabriel. Gabriel teamed him with Canadian producer Michael Brook for a four-
day session, and the result was the fusion masterpiece Musst Musst.
Qawwali is a blend of Islamic (Sufi) poetry and Hindustani music. Khan
supported such fusion because, in the Qur’an, Allah is said to favor diversity—
and Khan considered music the best way to celebrate this. He had already
updated qawwali, speeding up and shortening traditional pieces that could last up
to an hour and were performed with just harmonium, drums, and chorus vocals.
“Musst Musst” (“intoxicated” or “high”) features a West African djembe drum,
funky bass, and electric guitars. Over this, Khan recites Urdu poetry and
improvises in his trademark wordless style, similar to scat.
Mustt Mustt “was a seminal album for me and completely changed the face
of British music,” enthused Nitin Sawhney, who noted it “also features one of
the best remixes of all time from Massive Attack.” The latter gave “Mustt
Mustt” their patented trip-hop vibe for a version that achieved international
success and helped kick-start Britain’s “Asian Underground” movement. JLu
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Diaraby Nene
Oumou Sangare (1990)
Balada conducatorolui
Taraf de Haïdouks (1991)
When communism ruled Eastern Europe, Western music was banned, and
ancient folk-music styles were preserved. Thus, when the Berlin Wall fell, there
were numerous musical treasures waiting to be discovered. First off the block
were a Romanian Gypsy group, discovered by Belgian promoter Stephane Karo.
He named them Taraf de Haïdouks, meaning “band of outlaws.”
“Balada conducatorolui” (Ballad of the Dictator) got the outlaws’
discography off to a striking start. The group’s seventy-year-old leader, Nicolae
Neacşu, draws raw sounds from his violin while fourteen-year-old Marinel
Sandu sets up a sparkling rhythm pattern on a small cymbalum (hammered
dulcimer). The toothless Neacşu narrates the events that led to the overthrow of
the tyrant, at one point tugging horse’s hair across the violin’s strings to create
the most extraordinary effect—as if the earth were opening up.
Taraf de Haïdouks performed the song in Tony Gatlif’s superb French movie
of 1993 Latcho drom (Romany for “safe journey”). This won them great
acclaim, with violin maestro Yehudi Menuhin and contemporary classical group
The Kronos Quartet lining up to praise Neacşu’s musical genius. Such fame saw
them appearing on the world’s most prestigious stages and in several films.
Neacşu died in 2002, but the Taraf continue to share their unique, ancient sound.
GC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Mike Reid, Allen Shamblin Producer | Don Was, Bonnie Raitt Label |
Capitol
Album | Luck of the Draw (1991)
After eighteen years in the business, Bonnie Raitt topped the U.S. charts with her
Grammy-winning tenth album, Nick of Time (1989). With success came
pressure, and the singer-guitarist was under the gun to show that Nick of Time
was not a fluke. She accomplished that in style with Luck of the Draw.
Raitt spent six months recording the album’s twelve songs, half of which
were released as singles. The most striking was “I Can’t Make You Love Me,”
Raitt’s crowning moment. “It was,” she told phillymag.com, “an incredible gift
to be given that song.” The heart-wrenching ballad is a one-sided love story,
painfully depicting a relationship on its deathbed. The lyrics were inspired by a
news story about a man who shot at his girlfriend’s car in an attempt to make her
stay with him. When a judge asked the perpetrator what he had learned from the
situation, he reportedly answered, “You can’t make a woman love you if she
don’t.”
Raitt did the vocals in one take, explaining to producer Don Was that she
simply couldn’t summon up the requisite emotions a second time. In retrospect,
she didn’t need a second take—she had nailed the lovesick feel perfectly. Her
tear-jerking delivery was wonderfully complemented by equally forlorn piano
from Bruce Hornsby. The song was a Top Ten U.S. hit that helped Luck of the
Draw garner a boatload of Grammys and become the best-selling album of
Raitt’s career. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“I don’t wanna see these guys wearing cowboy hats and long hair
and Easy Rider shades, playing hardcore beats.”
Thurston Moore, Sonic Youth, 1992
No More Tears
Ozzy Osbourne (1991)
Writer | Ozzy Osbourne, Zakk Wylde, Randy Castillo, Mike Inez, John Purdell
Producer | Duane Baron, John Purdell
Label | Epic
Album | No More Tears (1991)
“All that stuff about heavy metal and hard rock, I don’t subscribe to
any of that. It’s all just music.”
Ozzy Osbourne, 2000
“Smells Like Teen Spirit” is the rock anthem most associated with 1991.
However, while Nirvana took over magazine covers and swept “hair metal”
aside, a few veterans escaped the purge. Ozzy Osbourne had long defied logic,
not least by becoming more successful as a solo artist than he had been in metal
pioneers Black Sabbath. (Indeed, by 1991, Sabbath were re-recruiting Ozzy’s
successor Ronnie James Dio, in a bid to bolster their flagging fortunes.) Yet
surely even Ozzy was due to decline, after twenty years of self-abuse and being
arrested for attempting to kill his wife and manager Sharon.
Instead, he forged into the new decade with his biggest-selling album. It
boasted the hit “Mama, I’m Coming Home” and future Grammy winner “I Don’t
Want to Change the World”—yet most remarkable was its epic title track. The
seven-minute masterpiece opens with a rumbling bass line devised by Mike Inez
(latterly of Alice in Chains). Thereafter, it showcases Ozzy’s evil tale of a serial
killer menacing strippers, and Zakk Wylde’s pyrotechnical guitar—ingredients
that might have made it no more than an excellent heavy metal song. The key
elements in its greatness are John Sinclair’s orchestral keyboards and Beatlesque
breakdown—entirely appropriate for Ozzy, who once said, “When I heard The
Beatles, I wanted to be a Beatle.” (Sinclair’s own rock associations included a
stint with Spinal Tap.)
With a memorable video of a woman nearly drowning in her own tears, “No
More Tears” became a rightful classic. Yet, while Ozzy continued to prosper,
there was a sad coda: two of the song’s co-writers—drummer Randy Castillo
and producer John Purdell—died of cancer, in 2002 and 2003, respectively. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“I don’t exactly know what ‘Teen Spirit’ means, but you know it
means something and it’s intense as hell.”
Butch Vig, 1992
Summertime
DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince (1991)
N.W.A. prompted much hand wringing in 1991 with their album Efil4zaggin.
However, at the same time, Jeff Townes (DJ Jazzy Jeff) and Will Smith (the
Fresh Prince) provided a powerful antidote to gangsta rap with “Summertime.”
“Hip-hop has many different styles,” observed Ice-T at the time. “You got the
Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince style, which is very pop and fun.”
Now a compilation staple, the slow-grooving “Summertime” samples Kool
& The Gang’s B-side “Summer Madness” from 1975 and Jack Bruce’s “Born to
Be Blue” (from Things We Like, released in 1970). Among contributors to the
song was rapper Juice, an associate of producer K. Fingers. However, as he told
BallerStatus.com, “We got sued by Kool & The Gang for the sample and nobody
made money.” (Legendary rapper Rakim denied rumors that he helped
ghostwrite the rhymes, although Smith’s delivery is certainly reminiscent of his.)
Fusing a laid-back rap with a soulful vocal from LaVette Goodman,
“Summertime” is a welcome, mellow respite from Smith and Townes’s usual
busy sound. “They have one foot in house and rap, and the other in mainstream
R&B,” noted record executive Barry Weiss. Jive’s then senior vice president
scored a marketing coup by premiering the “Summertime” video immediately
after an episode of Smith’s smash TV sitcom, The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
The Grammy-winning cut remains Smith and Townes’s biggest joint hit.
Although Hollywood success all but eclipsed the former’s on-off recording
career, he told Jet in 2004: “There’s no experience I’ve ever had that beats
standing in the middle of a stage with 70,000 people and those first couple of
seconds of ‘Summertime’ come on.” EP
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Give It Away
Red Hot Chili Peppers (1991)
Having raised a funk-rock ruckus for years, Red Hot Chili Peppers hit the
mainstream with their album BloodSugarSexMagik. With producer Rick Rubin
and a change of label (not to mention the hit “Under the Bridge”), the sound that
the Peppers had made their own hit the world.
BloodSugar’s first single sprang from a jam session. “This idea of ‘give it
away’ was tornadoing in my head for a while,” recalled singer Anthony Kiedis.
“When Flea started hitting that bass line, that tornado just came out of my
mouth.” A memorable video directed by French filmmaker Stéphane Sednaoui—
the group dancing in a desert, wearing silver bodypaint and shiny pants—and
Kiedis’s chanting “Giveidaway, giveidaway, giveidaway now” helped “Give It
Away” become an international Top Ten hit. Ironically, “the number one radio
station that Warner’s wanted to break the song on—a station out of Texas—told
[us] to ‘come back when you have a melody in your song,’” said Kiedis.
At first listen, the lyrics seem to be simply about sex. “Where you say, ‘What
I got you gotta get and put it in ya,’” observed Krusty the Clown when the
Peppers guested on The Simpsons, “how about just, ‘What I’d like is I’d like to
hug and kiss ya’?”
However, the chorus to the song is about altruistic behavior. Kiedis said that
the lyrics were inspired by a discussion about selflessness and generosity that he
had with an ex-girlfriend, German singer Nina Hagen: “I was going through her
closet one day . . . when I came upon a valuable exotic jacket. . . . ‘Take it, you
can have it,’ she said. . . . ‘It’s always important to give things away: it creates
good energy.’” SO
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
One
U2 (1991)
Writer | U2
Producer | Daniel Lanois, Brian Eno
Label | Island
Album | Achtung Baby (1991)
“Achtung Baby was bigger than life. It was unique. A song like ‘One’
was beyond ridiculous.”
Jon Bon Jovi, 2000
“I thought this might be the end,” recalled drummer Larry Mullen in the
autobiography U2 by U2, published in 2006. The band had decamped to Berlin,
on the eve of reunification, in a desperate search for inspiration, only to find
themselves riven by dissent. “We weren’t getting anywhere,” said bassist Adam
Clayton, “until ‘One’ fell into our laps and suddenly we hit a groove.”
Just as the band had begun to think that their disagreements might remain
unresolved, producer Daniel Lanois—who also played on the track—suggested
guitarist The Edge combine two chord progressions with which he had been
toying. Suddenly the band found their stride and improvised the rest of “One” in
less than an hour. Singer Bono conjured the words, inspired by a festival called
Oneness, spearheaded by the Dalai Lama. “I love and respect the Dalai Lama,”
said Bono, “but this event didn’t strike a chord. I sent him back a note saying,
‘One—but not the same.’”
Although the song galvanized the recording of Achtung Baby, the drama
continued. “I walked in literally as the boys had completed the last mix and said,
‘I’ve got a great guitar part for the end of ‘One,’” remembered The Edge. “It was
like telling them someone had died . . . I ran in, put the amp up, plugged it in,
played the guitar part once, they mixed it ten minutes after, and it was done.”
“One” yielded a controversial video featuring U2 in drag and so entranced
Guns N’ Roses singer Axl Rose that he took to showing up on the band’s
subsequent tour. In 2005, U2 re-recorded the slow burner with soul star Mary J.
Blige. However, as Bono admitted, “The song is a bit twisted . . . I could never
figure out why people want it at their weddings.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Losing My Religion
R.E.M. (1991)
“Our career can be divided into the two parts,” observed R.E.M. guitarist Peter
Buck. “Pre-‘Losing My Religion’ and post-‘Losing My Religion.’ . . .
Afterward, we had hit singles, platinum albums . . .” Many groups have to
compromise to reach such heights. R.E.M. achieved it with their integrity intact,
as the defiantly non-mainstream “Losing My Religion”—with its mandolin-
driven melody and enchanting simplicity—clearly illustrates.
“I was drinking wine,” Buck recalled, “and watching The Nature Channel
with the sound off and learning how to play the mandolin. . . . I played ‘Losing
My Religion’ all the way through, and then played really bad stuff for a while. I
woke up in the morning not knowing what I’d written. I had to relearn it by
playing the tape. That’s where songs come from for me: someplace where you’re
not really thinking about it.” “I described R.E.M. once as a bunch of minor
chords with some nonsense thrown on top,” said singer Michael Stipe. “‘Losing
My Religion’ has that quality. You always want to sing along, and you always
want to keep singing when it’s over.”
Catchiness camouflages ambiguity: as with R.E.M.’s 1987 hit, “The One I
Love,” the lyrics are not what they seem. Rather than a personal declaration of
lost faith, Stipe said the phrase “losing my religion” refers to Southern slang for
losing your temper or being “at the end of your rope.” A melodramatic video
featuring religious imagery such as Saint Sebastian and Stipe wearing angel
wings fueled further misconceptions. Nonetheless, “Losing My Religion” swept
the board at the MTV Video Music awards in 1991, confirming Stipe’s belief
that “once a song . . . goes out to people, it’s as much theirs as it is mine.” BC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Life Is a Highway
Tom Cochrane (1991)
Red Rider enjoyed massive success in Canada during the Eighties, yet were
considered something of a one-hit wonder (for the Pink Floyd rip “Lunatic
Fringe”) everywhere else. A nearly identical scenario played out in the Nineties
for vocalist Tom Cochrane, once he left the band.
“Life Is a Highway,” Cochrane’s debut solo single, is a country-rocker that
demands listeners’ attention. The radio-friendly track is so contagious that,
whether or not you like it, you find yourself singing along—and the chorus gets
stuck in your head for days. On the surface, “Life Is a Highway” is a classic road
song, in the lineage of “Route 66.” Cochrane, however, claims that it has a
deeper, Zen-like meaning: “It’s a celebration of life and doing what you can
when you can. And really don’t sweat the rest because you can’t control
everything.”
The song was a No. 1 hit in Canada, where it helped Cochrane earn four
Juno awards and signaled the start of a prosperous solo career. It also did big
business in the United States, reaching No. 6. In 2006, Rascal Flatts found
success with a version featured in the Disney movie Cars. However, there was a
dark side to the joyful song. “I’ve had people send me letters telling me their kid
died in a car crash and they found the ‘Life Is a Highway’ tape in the tape deck,”
Cochrane told melodicrock.com. “Sometimes you don’t want to hear that stuff.”
JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“As far as I’m concerned,” Lenny Kravitz admitted in 1989, “state of the art was
in 1967.” The writer-producer-performer was talking about his debut album Let
Love Rule, which was indeed late Beatlesque. Between albums, Kravitz had
written and produced Madonna’s unimpeachably modern “Justify My Love,” but
his second set, Mama Said, drew more clearly on Sly & The Family Stone, Led
Zeppelin, and righteous Seventies soul.
Although its brass was rooted in James Brown, the lead single “Always on
the Run” strayed to the Jimmy Page side of the tracks. And who better to be a
six-string foil than the era’s premier top-hatted guitar hero? Guns N’ Roses
guitarist Slash and Kravitz first played together on Mama Said opener “Fields of
Joy.” “We enjoyed that experience,” Kravitz reflected in 2000, “and thought that
it would be nice to write a song together.” “As I was warming up,” Slash
recalled, “I played a funky guitar riff that I’d come up with recently but hadn’t
found a place for in any of the songs I was working on at the time with Guns.”
The multitalented Kravitz played drums, adding bass and vocals later, and the
result is a classic rock strutter, paving the way for future funky triumphs such as
“Are You Gonna Go My Way” and “Fly Away.” “We recorded ‘Always on the
Run’ in under an hour,” marveled Slash. “The raw, spontaneous energy of that
track is right there in the final product.” MH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Treaty
Yothu Yindi (1991)
“Yothu Yindi became successful through their really good stage show,
which mixed aspects of their own culture with rock.”
Neil Finn, Crowded House, 2000
Unfinished Sympathy
Massive Attack (1991)
Writer | Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Shara Nelson, Jonathan Sharp,
Andrew Vowles
Producer | Massive Attack, Jonny Dollar
Label | Wild Bunch
Album | Blue Lines (1991)
“The title came up as a joke at first, but it fitted the song and the
arrangements so perfectly . . .”
Robert “3D” Del Naja, 2009
Writer | Jimmy Cauty, Bill Drummond, Ricky Lyte Producer | The KLF
Label | KLF Communications Album | N/A
This hip-hop house track by two musical guerrillas features Tammy Wynette
—“the first lady of country”—and a recurring quote from Jimi Hendrix’s
“Voodoo Chile”? Unsurprisingly, this delightfully bonkers song has a deranged
history.
It first appeared as “Hey Hey We Are Not the Monkees” on 1987 (What the
Fuck is Going On?) by Jimmy Cauty, future co-founder of The Orb, and former
Echo & The Bunnymen/Teardrop Explodes manager Bill Drummond. They
called themselves The JAMs, or Justified Ancients of Mu Mu, after a sect in The
Illuminatus! Trilogy—a series of cult books published in the 1970s—who
infiltrated and subverted a secret world order, The Illuminati. Cauty and
Drummond intended to do the same to the music industry through sampling.
By 1991, the duo—renamed The KLF—had enjoyed three Top Five U.K.
hits. Their best-selling album The White Room closed with the lullaby “Justified
and Ancient,” which—in late 1991—was drastically revamped as the
transatlantic smash “Justified & Ancient (Stand By the JAMs).” “Jimmy and I
were about to drop the track,” Drummond wrote in his book, 45. “But things
turned round after Cauty had the idea of enlisting Tammy. Twenty minutes after
he suggested it, [I] was chatting to the heroine of heartache backstage at a
Tennessee concert hall.” The track became her biggest hit on Billboard’s pop
chart. PW
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Enter Sandman
Metallica (1991)
Metallica fans divide into two camps. Thrashers prefer the band’s older, more
aggressive music and were let down when they changed direction at the start of
the Nineties. More relaxed folks like Metallica songs from both sides of the
divide. But no matter where you stand, “Enter Sandman” is a masterful
composition, and, with a full-fat production from Bob Rock, it was perfect for
MTV and radio.
After the sinister introduction, the verse sits atop a chunky riff devised by
lead guitarist Kirk Hammett. “Soundgarden had just put out Louder Than Love,”
he told Rolling Stone. “I was trying to capture their attitude toward big, heavy
riffs.” “That was the most straightforward, simplest song we had ever written,”
recalled drummer Lars Ulrich, who modified the guitarist’s work. “We did that
in two days.” The “sandman” theme was one that singer and lyricist James
Hetfield had mooted for six years. “Me being brought up in Denmark and not
knowing about a lot of this shit, I didn’t get it,” admitted Ulrich in Kerrang!
“Then James clued me in. Apparently the sandman is like this children’s villain.”
Every successful band has its “Stairway to Heaven”—a song that takes them
to a new level of recognition and without which they would not have come so
far. “Enter Sandman”—a hit that remains a near-permanent inclusion in the
band’s setlists—is Metallica’s. JMc See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“They were calling my house saying I had a No. 1 record in England,” recalled
American soul singer Candi Staton in an interview with the Guardian in 2006.
“And I said, ‘What song? I haven’t released any song.’” This is almost the final
paragraph in the convoluted history of a song that has sold two million copies
worldwide and been a Top Ten hit on three separate occasions in the United
Kingdom.
The origins of the track lie in a documentary about a morbidly obese man
trying to lose weight. The producers asked Staton to provide a song to
soundtrack the film, and she gave them the spiritually beseeching “You Got the
Love.” The song has a spiritual message: God has “got the love I need to see me
through.” The film was eventually shelved, and Staton forgot about her anthem.
Then, in 1989, European DJ Eren Abdullah mixed the a cappella version of the
song with a renowned house music track by Frankie Knuckles and Jamie
Principle, “Your Love.” The result was released on a bootleg EP.
Two years later, the heartbreaking track was officially released in the United
Kingdom by DJ John Truelove, this time credited to The Source featuring Candi
Staton. It was as it flew up the charts that Staton received her perplexing
congratulatory telephone call. Truelove released two remixed versions, in 1997
and 2006.
In 2004, the song was used to play out the final minutes of Sex and the City’s
last episode. Meanwhile, Staton started performing the song with The Source—
although, as she admitted to The Quietus in 2009: “At first I didn’t even know
how to sing it! I didn’t even know when to come in on time!” DC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Bob Dylan Producer | Bob Dylan, Mark Knopfler, Jeff Rosen Label |
Columbia
Album | The Bootleg Series Volumes 1–3 (Rare & Unreleased) 1961–1991
(1991)
Bob Dylan tipped his hat to Blind Willie McTell—the early twentieth-century
vocalist-guitarist best known for “Statesboro Blues”—on several occasions. He
covered the Georgia-born bluesman’s “Broke Down Engine” and “Delia,” and
referenced him in the words of “Highway 61 Revisited” and “Po’Boy.” His
greatest tribute came in 1983, with the recording of “Blind Willie McTell.” Fans,
however, wouldn’t get to hear the song until much later.
Dylan intended the track for Infidels, which marked his welcome return to
secular music. That “Blind Willie McTell”—now considered a career highlight
—didn’t make the final cut is hard to fathom, given that Infidels is hardly
bursting with Bob’s best. Dylan later explained the omission to Rolling Stone:
“It was never developed fully. I never got around to completing it. There
wouldn’t have been any other reason for leaving it off the record.”
Whispered about by fans for years, “Blind Willie McTell” eventually
showed up in 1991 on The Bootleg Series Volumes 1–3. The work is one of
uncommon beauty, built on a familiar piano melody from “St. James Infirmary
Blues” and filled with exquisite language. There’s visceral conviction to the
vocal delivery, as Dylan delivers five short vignettes, each closing with a
reverential line about McTell. The song’s greatest accomplishment, however, is
to prompt listeners to take the next step and search out McTell’s own recordings.
JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Much of the dance music of 1991 seemed to exist in the shadow of The Shamen.
If you had not been exposed to the Beatmasters version assailing the airwaves,
there were numerous remixes of “Move Any Mountain–Progen 91”—so many,
in fact, that they were released as an album (Progeny) in their own right. The
song had started life as “Pro>Gen,” which took hold in the clubs during 1990.
Espousing then-newcomer Mr. C’s belief that “No one can do a Shamen song
better than The Shamen,” it was re-recorded and became one of three hits (with
“Hyperreal” and “Make It Mine”) from En-Tact that established the group as
techno figureheads.
The words of the song encapsulate the optimism of the moment. “This was
it,” said founder Colin Angus. “We could take control; we had the power. That’s
what the ‘Move Any Mountain’ lyric is all about. Large numbers of people all
with the same vibe.” Large enough, indeed, to take the song into the U.K. Top
Three and even to make inroads into the U.S. market. However, this “anything is
possible” ethos was tested to its extreme when—during the trip to Tenerife
where the “Move Any Mountain” video was filmed—bassist Will Sinnott (aka
Will Sin) drowned. “I realized that what The Shamen’s about was positivity,”
said Angus. “That positivity is like the spirit of the music, and positivity
acknowledges the need for change. So for those reasons I elected to carry on.”
CB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Cypress Hill’s debut single was almost a “how to” guide for Nineties hip-hop.
Unleashed before Dr. Dre’s cannabis-championing The Chronic, “How I Could
Just Kill a Man” (known in demo form as “Trigga Happy Nigga”) kicked off
with B-Real praising the power of the herb: “Hey don’t miss out on what you’re
passin’ / You’re missin’ the hoota of the funky Buddha.” The music enhances
the toking experience: the beats, from Manzel’s “Midnight Theme,” are lazy and
dirty; the bass line, from Lowell Fulsom’s “Tramp,” is rumbling; and a squealing
guitar from the solo of Jimi Hendrix’s “Are You Experienced?” dominates the
chorus. These hazy sonics helped Cypress Hill to unite gangbangers and
headbangers. (The line “All I wanted was a Pepsi” at the song’s close is from
Suicidal Tendencies’ thrash epic “Institutionalized”).
“How I Could Just Kill a Man” soundtracked a climactic scene in the Tupac
Shakur film Juice (1992). It also pushed gangsta rap closer to the mainstream,
when the band played the Lollapalooza festival and had white rock crowds
chanting along with the menacing chorus: “Here is something you can’t
understand / How I could just kill a man.” B-Real claimed that he hadn’t
intended to glorify violence and only advocated gunplay in self-defense.
Whatever his intention, this funky firecracker helped create an audience for the
coming generation of socially unconscious, trigga-happy rappers. TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Cop Killer
Body Count (1992)
Rap pioneer Ice-T was not the first musician to openly discuss murdering a
police officer (see “I Shot the Sheriff”), but he was the first to turn the concept
into an international controversy. Gangsta rappers N.W.A. had attracted
attention for “Fuck tha Police,” and unrest about the behavior of urban law
enforcers had been noted in many U.S. cities, but no one expected the elements
to explode in 1992, culminating in the Los Angeles riots.
“Cop Killer” initially passed unnoticed, buried at the end of the debut by
Ice’s heavy metal side project Body Count. “The white kids are very open for a
black rock band, if it’s done right,” he told Q. “They just want to make sure
you’re not posing, y’know? . . . We like Anthrax, Slayer, Motörhead, and real
thrash bands like Minor Threat.” However, after the riots—and with censorship
still a political hot potato—lyrics like “I know your family’s grieving—fuck
’em!” sparked boycotts and protests. The storm spiraled out of proportion;
ultimately, Ice requested that his label’s parent company, Warner Bros., reissue
the album without the offending track.
In throwing himself to the lions, Ice laid his career on the line for rap, rock,
and freedom of speech. “Cop Killer,” as he said himself, “was a protest record,
man. It was a record of anger and some people didn’t understand it, but a lot of
people really heard that fuckin’ record and they knew what I was singing about.”
JMc See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Influenced by: Wooly Bully • Sam the Sham & The Pharoahs (1965)
Influence on: I Wanna Be Your Lush • Fluffy (1996)
Covered by: CSS (2007)
Other key tracks: Shove (1990) • Everglade (1992) • Mr. Integrity
(1992) • Andres (1994)
Nirvana drove a stake through the charts, creating a hole through which many
like-minded bands followed. L7—a female four-piece from Los Angeles, named
after 1950s slang for “square”—were one. They had two albums (and a tour with
Nirvana) under their belts by the time that grunge hit the mainstream, and they
trailed their third with this thundering anthem about the perils of apathy. The
lyrics, explained drummer Dee Plakas, referred to “people not paying attention
to what’s going on, politically, socially—shutting your ears and eyes.”
Co-produced by Nevermind’s Butch Vig, “Pretend We’re Dead” was picked
up by MTV. The video shoot hadn’t been without incident: a camera crane fell
on guitarist Suzi Gardner. “I’ve been a dim bulb ever since,” she mourned.
Gardner was, however, responsible for one of the song’s distinctive elements: “I
wanted to do a backwards solo, but it just wasn’t working out so hot. So I wrote
a solo frontwards, played the tape backwards, learned it backwards, then played
it like that.”
The song secured L7 enviable exposure—literally when it came to Britain’s
live TV show The Word, on which singer-guitarist Donita Sparks dropped her
pants to cap a riotous, drum-kit-trashing performance. That spectacle was
matched in 1992 at the sodden Reading festival in the United Kingdom, when
Sparks hurled a used tampon into a mud-slinging crowd. (Fifteen years later, she
joined Brazilian band CSS onstage in LA for their customary cover of the song.)
“Pretend We’re Dead” became a karaoke favorite thanks to Rock Band 2
and, when it turned up on the soundtrack to Grand Theft Auto III: San Andreas,
its classic status was confirmed. PW
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
My Drug Buddy
Lemonheads (1992)
“When we heard it, we were like, ‘That’s a pretty cool subject to write
a song about.’”
Nathan Followill, Kings of Leon, 2003
Motorcycle Emptiness
Manic Street Preachers (1992)
Creep
Radiohead (1992)
“Jonny played the piano at the end and it was gorgeous. Everyone
who heard ‘Creep’ just started going insane.”
Paul Q. Kolderie, 1997
It’s ironic that Radiohead felt alienated for so long from a song that explored that
very subject. The band has created an acclaimed body of work—but there was
once real doubt that they would release anything that could stop people referring
to them as the group with the “outsider’s song,” as front man Thom Yorke called
it.
“Creep” tells of a man’s pursuit of a female, whose unattainability reinforces
his own sense of inadequacy. It was written “in a drunken haze” by Yorke, who
thought it was “crap.” “I didn’t like it,” agreed guitarist Jonny Greenwood. “It
stayed quiet. So I hit the guitar hard—really hard.” That gave the song a primal
pre-chorus blast that became central to its success. “Thom mumbled something
like, ‘That’s our Scott Walker song’ . . .” producer Paul Q. Kolderie told Mojo,
“except I thought he said, ‘That’s a Scott Walker song.’ . . . Sean [Slade, co-
producer] said, ‘Too bad their best song’s a cover.’”
The song stiffed in the United Kingdom as a single in 1992 but went Top
Forty in the United States. Pressure was duly applied for a domestic re-release.
Radiohead had already changed its radio-unfriendly lyrics, after reminding
themselves that many bands they admired had done the same. Issuing it again in
the United Kingdom, however, was a step too far. “Over our dead bodies,”
declared guitarist Ed O’Brien. Nonetheless, “Creep” hit the Top Ten in 1993,
becoming a worldwide hit. “I suppose,” admitted Yorke, “the song won in the
end.” It has duly been covered by a number of artists.
But the band has had their revenge. Tired of its ubiquity, they have only
intermittently wheeled “Creep” out in concert since the late 1990s. CB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
A fuming four-piece from Los Angeles, Rage Against the Machine were armed
with politically piercing manifestos. If they couldn’t change the world, they
would at least do a good job of shaking it up with a blend of alternative rock,
punk, hip-hop, heavy metal, and funk.
Typically for the confrontational band, their first single, “Killing in the
Name,” refused to play nicely, and frothed with radio-unfriendly, parent-
perturbing, blue language that reached a potty-mouthed crescendo with word-
slayer Zach de la Rocha’s rousing war cry, “Fuck you, I won’t do what you tell
me.” (The band weren’t angry all the time. As drummer Brad Wilk assured
Kerrang! “We don’t wake up in the morning and rage against the milk carton
because we can’t get it open.”)
If the song’s words—decrying the likes of the Ku Klux Klan—weren’t
enough of a wake-up call, Tom Morello’s spiky guitar and Tim Commerford’s
throbbing bass certainly did the trick. “We wrote that song before we even had a
gig,” recalled Morello. “So when we started clobbering people with those riffs
and the ‘fuck you,’ it was exciting from the very beginning.” His distinctive
squeaks were influenced by “noises that I heard on Dr. Dre and Public Enemy
records,” Morello told Rolling Stone. “We were melding hard rock, punk, and
hip-hop, and I was the DJ.”
“When we play that song live, I’ve really seen nothing like it,” Morello said
in 2007. “When that last chorus comes in—I think if you look under the
dictionary for the definition of the word ‘apeshit’ there’d have to be a picture of
people losing their mind to the song.” The track received radio play despite the
profanity, including one accidentally uncensored airing on BBC Radio One.
KBo
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Connected
Stereo MC’s (1992)
Writer | Harry Wayne “KC” Casey, Richard Finch, Nick Hallam, Rob Birch
Producer | Stereo MC’s
Label | 4th & B’way
Album | Connected (1992)
Inkanyezi Nezazi
Ladysmith Black Mambazo (1992)
Ever since it was featured in a series of ads for Heinz products in 1997,
Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s song “Inkanyezi Nezazi” has been widely known
as “the baked beans song.” But the song was inspired by the biblical story of the
three wise men going to Bethlehem to see the baby Jesus.
Founded in 1964, Ladysmith Black Mambazo are South Africa’s leading
musical ambassadors. Their a cappella style is called isicathamiya or mbube, and
gained a much wider audience in 1986 after they contributed to Paul Simon’s
Graceland album. Then the Heinz campaign brought them back into the
spotlight a decade later. Shabalala’s stirring lead vocal is in Zulu and soars
above the other singers, whose rich harmonies respond to him in rhythmic waves
of sound, punctuated by percussive effects they create entirely with their voices.
The song first appeared as the title track of a 1992 album; the ad version is
an abridged re-recording made for the 1997 album Heavenly. In 1998, in
response to the attention generated by the commercial, the original 1992 version
was re-released on a CD single, which included “Supafunkee” dub and club
remixes by Roger Sanchez and Kings of Tomorrow. The cover didn’t show the
group, but a look-alike of Heinz’s distinctive blue-green baked beans logo. The
message was clear: Beanz meanz Mambazo. JLu See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Sodade
Cesária Evora (1992)
Remedy
The Black Crowes (1992)
“I think they put their records together very nicely. They work out
their guitar parts very well.”
Rod Stewart, 1993
No Rain
Blind Melon (1992)
“We were thinking like, ‘Oh, this sounds like the theme song from Sesame
Street,” guitarist Rogers Stevens told ultimate-guitar.com. “‘It’s a great kids’
song or something.” The jangly, uplifting guitars and finger-clicking melody that
open “No Rain” certainly belie its theme: the crippling effects of depression and
drug dependency.
The principal writer was bassist Brad Smith, who told Details that it was
about a former girlfriend: “She had a hard time with depression. I was telling
myself that I was writing it about her . . . and I realized I was writing it about
myself at the same time.” The title, he added, came from her sleeping “even
when it was sunny outside . . . she’d complain that there wouldn’t be any rain,
because that would give her an excuse to stay in.”
Blind Melon’s debut album cover, featuring a photograph of drummer Glen
Graham’s younger sister Georgia, inspired the song’s much-loved video
(directed by Samuel Bayer), which received heavy airplay on MTV. The band
became so sick of the clip’s ubiquity that they refused to discuss its bee-
costumed heroine, but Pearl Jam wrote “Bee Girl” (on their 2003 album Lost
Dogs) about her.
Singer Shannon Hoon—a fan of The Grateful Dead, whose “Ripple” is a
distant ancestor of “No Rain”—was reportedly high on LSD during the video
shoot. Sadly, his weakness for illicit substances cost him his life. He died of a
drug overdose in 1995, aged just twenty-eight.
“It was crazy,” recalled guitarist Christopher Thorn. “We had booked a club
tour before we knew ‘No Rain’ was going to be a hit. So we were sort of
halfway through a club tour and then suddenly the song goes up the charts. . . .
Those were really fun days.” OM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Walk
Pantera (1992)
Writer | Darrell “Dimebag” Abbott, Vinnie Paul, Phil Anselmo, Rex Brown
Producer | Terry Date
Label | ATCO
Album | Vulgar Display of Power (1992)
Darrell “Dimebag” Abbott was coming into his prime as a songwriter and
guitarist when he recorded Pantera’s second major-label album (their sixth
release, if you count the band’s regrettable glam metal years). A standout on an
album full of standouts, “Walk” was based on a staccato riff that was as easy to
play as to mosh to.
The song arose during the warm-up for a show. “It came after I picked up a
guitar after a day or two . . .” recalled Dimebag. “Like when you haven’t had a
piece of ass for a long time!”
“Respect!” bellowed singer Phil Anselmo, while drummer Vinnie Paul and
bassist Rex Brown tagged along with Dimebag—who delivers a mind-boggling
solo. The song upholds integrity (“You can’t be something you’re not / Be
yourself, by yourself”) and warns detractors, “Run your mouth when I’m not
around . . .”
“You get back into town,” Anselmo complained, “and all your friends—who
you thought were your friends—are all snickering behind your back and talking
about this and that. . . . That’s what ‘Walk’ is about. It’s like, ‘Show some
respect, and just walk on, man.’”
With its distinctive “walking” time signature and one of Dimebag’s best
solos (which Guitar World voted the fifty-seventh greatest of all time), the song
was a high point in any Pantera show. By the time the band imploded, it had
become a new generation’s “Whole Lotta Rosie.” Covers by Fall Out Boy and
Avenged Sevenfold have kept “Walk” in the public eye, and its chorus is often
chanted at concerts and sporting events. Its status was only enhanced by
Dimebag’s death in 2004 at the hands of a psychopath. Had he lived, he might
even have bettered it. JMc
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Real Love
Mary J. Blige (1992)
Writer | Mark C. Rooney, Mark Morales, Kirk “Milk Dee” Robinson, Nathaniel
“Gizmo” Robinson
Producer | Mark Morales, Mark C. Rooney
Label | Uptown
Album | What’s the 411? (1992)
“I worked for my success, you know? I deserve this and I’m not giving
up.”
Mary J. Blige, 1995
All trips to the mall should be as fruitful as the one seventeen-year-old Mary
Jane Blige made in the late Eighties, when she recorded a version of Anita
Baker’s “Caught Up in the Rapture” on a karaoke machine. The tape found its
way to Andre Harrell, who signed Blige to his Uptown label.
Working with the producer then known as Puff Daddy, Blige drew from both
the old-school soul played by her parents and hip-hop blasted on the streets of
New York. “It wasn’t until Puffy came along,” the singer told Scotland on
Sunday, “that anybody knew what to do with me.” The first single from Blige’s
debut album was the R&B chart-topper “You Remind Me,” but the second
provided her with a crossover smash.
“Real Love” was Blige at her best. Her platinum pipes rang with gospel-
infused soul, earning comparisons with Chaka Khan and Aretha Franklin. Yet
the joyful love song was built on beats from Audio Two’s hip-hop classic “Top
Billin’.” Ironically, although Audio Two secured writing credits on Blige’s song,
the “Top Billin’” drums were themselves sampled from The Honey Drippers’
“Impeach the President”—a 1973 funk classic that, like “Top Billin’,” has been
sampled countless times.
Also key to the success of “Real Love” was a remix by Puff Daddy and
Stetsasonic’s Daddy-O. This sampled Betty Wright’s irresistible “Clean Up
Woman”—but, more importantly, it introduced Puffy’s protégé, The Notorious
B.I.G.
“Real Love” helped What’s the 411? sell three million copies in the United
States alone, while the single reached No. 7 on the Billboard Hot 100 and No. 1
on their R&B singles chart. Moreover, it crowned Blige with the title she still
holds: “the Queen of Hip-Hop Soul.” JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Deep Cover
Dr. Dre introducing Snoop Doggy Dogg (1992)
Writer | Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Colin Wolfe Producer | Dr. Dre
Label | Solar
Album | Deep Cover (1992)
Leaving N.W.A. in 1991, when the gangsta rappers were peaking in popularity,
seemed an odd career move. How could Dr. Dre go solo without Eazy-E and Ice
Cube by his side? The answer came in the form of Calvin Broadus, aka Snoop
Doggy Dogg. Dre, a gifted talent-spotter, promptly invited Snoop to grace his
debut solo single.
Built on Grand Canyon–deep bass, the track mined similar ground to
N.W.A.’s “Fuck tha Police.” “It’s saying, ‘Fuck these undercover police that’ll
set up your ass,’” Snoop told Playboy. “This motherfucker and I were doing
business. I was trusting him, and all the while he had a wire on. And my girl
coming in, happens to tap him on the back and that wire falls out. . . . It’s not,
‘Hey, he’s undercover. Kill him.’ It’s what you feel like because you trusted
him.”
The two rappers boasted intriguingly different styles but meshed beautifully.
With drums from Sly & The Family Stone’s much-sampled “Sing a Simple
Song,” and a recurring “I can feel it” from The Undisputed Truth’s “(I Know)
I’m Losing You,” the song’s hypnotic groove and violent imagery formed the
blueprint for “G-Funk.”
The Deep Cover soundtrack only hit No. 166 in the United States, yet it’s
likely that everyone who bought it did so for the title track. “Deep Cover” set the
stage for the duo’s 1992 album, The Chronic, and the world was theirs. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Out of Space
The Prodigy (1992)
Writer | Howlett, Miller, Perry, Mau. Smith, Max. Smith, Thornton, Randolph
Producer | Liam Howlett
Label | XL
Album | Experience (1992)
Didi
Khaled (1992)
“In music,” Khaled Hadj Brahim observed to Afro Pop, “there are artists who
sing about politics—engaged artists—and also artists who sing about love . . .
and artists who make you laugh. Me, I’m coming from those artists who make
people laugh and talk about love.”
Khaled began scoring hits in his early teens in Algeria and developed into
the nation’s most gifted (and popular) rai singer. Rai grew from Bedouin
traditional songs, about politics, society, and relationships, to a sound that
absorbed all kinds of influences. By the time Khaled was hailed “king of rai,”
the music incorporated Western pop, funk, and rock, yet retained strong Arabic
roots.
War between Algeria’s military government and fundamentalists in the
1980s forced Khaled and other rai singers to flee to France. There, the Barclay
label signed him and hired super-producer Don Was to helm his major-label
debut.
“Didi,” the opening song and first hit from that album, became a hit in
France, and his popularity spread internationally. In the Arabic world, “Didi”
became an anthem and Khaled the largest-selling Arabic album ever (over seven
million copies sold). “Didi” featured Khaled’s magnificent voice up front, over a
propulsive dance floor groove that kept the song swinging. As an Arabic-
Western pop hybrid, it was a masterpiece, and announced, in no uncertain terms,
rai’s international arrival. GC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Animal Nitrate
Suede (1993)
You could plot their musical influences on a small map: David Bowie, The
Smiths, David Bowie, The Only Ones, David Bowie. But alternative British
music had never seen anything quite like the Suede phenomenon. Acclaimed as
the best band in the country before they had even released a record, Suede
justified the hype with a trio of scintillatingly sordid singles.
These culminated in “Animal Nitrate,” a seedy but energetic smash that
artfully combined Bernard Butler’s glam guitars with Brett Anderson’s cocky
celebration of amyl nitrite and underage gay sex. “The songs that specifically
revolve around the gay world, like ‘Animal Nitrate,’ are written because I’m
involved in it through my friends . . .” Anderson told Mojo. “When people say
that I’m just using gay imagery, it depresses me, because my friends go through
emotional turmoil. I’ve felt that on their behalf, and written songs for them.”
Few expected the song to go mainstream, but Suede got their big break when
they gate-crashed the Brit Awards—the British music industry’s annual knees-
up. Their act offered a refreshing contrast to the grunge ushered in by Nirvana.
Britpop was born, but Suede were overtaken when Blur and Oasis rewrote the
rules of what an NME-approved indie band could accomplish. They did,
however, leave the best legacy that any band can wish for—genuinely great hits.
PW
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
La solitudine
Laura Pausini (1993)
With “La solitudine,” Italian singer Laura Pausini won best newcomer at the
Sanremo Music Festival in February 1993 and was immediately catapulted onto
the international stage while still only eighteen years old. The following
summer, the single was broadcast on radio networks all over Europe.
Melodic, cute, and catchy, the song tells of a teenage girl who suffers
following the departure of her boyfriend. The lyrics are simple and
straightforward, capturing the girl’s feelings in exactly the words that a teenager
would use. “Marco has left and won’t be coming back,” she laments, going on to
describe the loneliness of the city without him: “The 7:30 train is a soulless heart
of metal”; “At school the desk is empty, Marco is inside me.” She wonders if he,
too, is thinking of her and suffering as much as she is (“I wonder if you think of
me If you ever speak with your friends So as not to suffer for me anymore”).
Though shy, Pausini won over a young audience with her soulful voice and
soon had admirers around the world, with a particularly strong following in
Latin America. She has even recorded several albums in Spanish and has won a
number of Latin Grammys. Cover versions of “La solitudine” have been released
in a number of different languages, and the English version, “Loneliness,” was
translated by Tim Rice. LSc See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Rumba Argelina
Radio Tarifa (1993)
Loser
Beck (1993)
“They said it was a slacker anthem, but it was a completely silly song,
just a takeoff on rap.”
Beck, 1996
“At first I thought it was a joke . . .” Beck told Option, of the reaction to
“Loser.” “But when the commercial stations started playing it, and the thing
started getting on the charts, I figured it must be for real. It was so freaky.”
The Los Angeles musical magpie, originally a fan of alternative figureheads
Sonic Youth, was turned on to folk via a Mississippi John Hurt album. His
subsequent work reflected these influences, with a hip-hop topping. Bong Load
label founder Tom Rothrock duly introduced him to “this guy who does hip-hop
beats and stuff”—producer Carl Stephenson. In January 1992, the pair
assembled “Loser,” based on Johnny Jenkins’s version of Dr. John’s “I Walk on
Guilded [sic] Splinters”—a track, featuring guitar by Duane Allman, that has
also been sampled by Oasis and Soul II Soul.
“I started writing these lyrics to the verse part,” Beck recalled. “When he
played it back, I thought, ‘Man, I’m the worst rapper in the world’ . . . I started
singing, ‘I’m a loser baby, so why don’t you kill me.’”
The track sat unused for a year before Rothrock put it out as a single in 1993.
When LA radio leapt on it, DGC—home of Sonic Youth—won a major label
bidding war. Their 1994 re-release made “Loser” a smash and Beck an unwitting
“slacker” icon. (The song reached No. 10 on the Billboard Hot 100.) An
experimental video for “Loser” was directed by Steve Hanft, a friend of Beck’s.
“If I’d known the impact it was going to make,” Beck rued, “I would have
put something a little more substantial in it.” However, the legacy of “Loser”
lives on, from the brainiac Eels to the beer-soaked Kid Rock. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
French Disko
Stereolab (1993)
Into Dust
Mazzy Star (1993)
Red Hot Chili Peppers front man Anthony Kiedis had fallen off the wagon after
years of sobriety. In “Aeroplane” he sang: “I’m turning into dust again / My
melancholy baby, the star of Mazzy, must push her voice inside of me.” The
lines referenced Hope Sandoval, and the saddest song she ever sang.
Mazzy Star began after Sandoval joined guitarist David Roback’s band Opal
(her predecessor, Kendra Smith, quit during a tour with The Jesus and Mary
Chain, of whom more later). “We were friends, Hope and I,” Roback told
Rolling Stone. “But I don’t think we were really part of the music scene. . . . We
were both sort of alienated—that’s what we had in common.”
Acclaim for the duo’s new band translated into sales when their second
album, So Tonight That I Might See, yielded the hit “Fade into You.” But
listeners discovered an even better song near the end of the set—a sparse
account of a decaying relationship. “David’s guitar part was just so moving,”
Sandoval recalled, “we didn’t even stop and write. He just played the guitar part,
I sang, we recorded it, and that was it.”
Sandoval was customarily reticent about her inspiration for the lyrics.
Around that time, however, she was living with William Reid of The Jesus and
Mary Chain. Tellingly, Reid recalled the relationship as “an act of self-
destruction—two messed up people clinging to each other.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Rid of Me
PJ Harvey (1993)
Laid
James (1993)
Open Up
Leftfield-Lydon (1993)
Possession
Sarah McLachlan (1993)
“It was just sort of a sicko fantasy in my brain that wouldn’t go any
further.”
Sarah McLachlan, 1996
Cannonball
The Breeders (1993)
Writer | Kim Deal Producer | Kim Deal, Mark Freegard Label | Elektra
Album | Last Splash (1993)
The Breeders began as a side-project for Pixies bassist Kim Deal and Tanya
Donnelly of Throwing Muses. By their second album, Last Splash, Donnelly
was long gone and Deal (accompanied by her twin sister Kelley) was mining a
seam of brilliantly left-handed subterranean sounds.
Kim writes pop to her own recipe. On “Cannonball,” that means off-kilter
hooks discovered while goofing around in the studio, shrieks of feedback,
choruses yelled through harmonicas, false endings, and eerily hummed
harmonies—threaded together by a slithering bass line and a stop-start beat. The
lyrics seem similarly lackadaisical, although Kim has since claimed that the song
was an elaborate mockery of the writings of the Marquis de Sade.
Radio embraced this addictive, off-center track, while Kim Gordon (of Sonic
Youth) and Spike Jonze’s video made indie rock sirens of the Deal sisters. Its
success helped parent album Last Splash go platinum, and The Breeders spent a
year on the road with Nirvana and, later, the Lollapalooza festival (before
remaining on hiatus until 2002 when they released Title TK).
The ramshackle charms of “Cannonball” have endured. It appeared in
NME’s list of the 50 Greatest Indie Anthems Ever, was sampled on French disco
producer Mirwais’s filthy hit “Disco Science,” and still fills indie club dance
floors. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
C.R.E.A.M.
Wu-Tang Clan (1993)
Writer | Coles, Diggs, Grice, Hawkins, Hunter, Jones, Smith, Woods, Hayes,
Porter
Producer | The RZA
Label | Loud
Album | Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) (1993)
New York was losing the rap race. Although hip-hop had been born and raised
on the city’s streets, the genre’s biggest artists—Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg—now
hailed from California. But, in 1993, Staten Island’s Wu-Tang Clan brought hip-
hop back east. Enter the Wu-Tang (36 Chambers) was a lethal cocktail of street
tales and sizzling samples, far removed from the G-Funk of Dre and crew.
“C.R.E.A.M.” defined the differences between East and West Coast rap. The
chorus—“Cash rules everything around me C.R.E.A.M. get the money Dollar,
dollar bill y’all”—sounded like the brainless capitalism of Californian gangstas,
but the track was more complex. The Clan portrayed hustling and drug dealing
as a means of survival, not as a route to riches and bitches.
Not that Wu-Tang were averse to making money. “Taking care of business is
part of the fight [in hip-hop],” U2’s Bono observed to NME. “There was a piece
in the New York Times on our friend The RZA.” The RZA’s raw production—
born in a cheap, crowded studio—upped the gritty air. A scratchy, spiraling
piano riff from The Charmels’ Isaac Hayes/David Porter–penned “As Long as
I’ve Got You” repeated over and over, supplemented only by a minimal, dirty
beat. These sparse sounds and bleak lyrics helped inspire the next great
generation of New York rappers and threw the Empire State back in the game.
TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Bruce Springsteen, Patti Smith Producer | Paul Fox Label | Elektra
Album | MTV Unplugged (1993)
“When we did ‘Because the Night’,” singer Natalie Merchant told The Arizona
Republic, “we weren’t putting a lot of emphasis on it. I just always liked the
song and thought it would be interesting to do it acoustically because it’s such a
powerful song electric.” Despite these modest origins, the cover became 10,000
Maniacs’ biggest hit—and Merchant’s sensational swan song.
It was penned by Bruce Springsteen, who gave it to Patti Smith. Having
tinkered with the lyrics, she too enjoyed her biggest hit with the song. Merchant
heard it in a restaurant while devising a set list for MTV’s Unplugged. “Patti
Smith and Bruce Springsteen are such different artists,” she told the Los Angeles
Times. “Patti the punk poetess and Bruce the guitar-playing, working-class hero.
The two of them collaborating on the song seemed to me to be symbolic of what
10,000 Maniacs had managed to do. We had somehow retained our alternative
label—our subversive vision, if you will—yet we were accepted in the
mainstream.”
Ironically, as “Because the Night” took over U.S. radio, Merchant announced
her departure from the group. “She wanted to be a solo act by the time she was
thirty,” keyboardist Dennis Drew told the Jamestown Post-Journal, “and she
turned thirty in October [1993].” Under the guidance of Springsteen’s manager,
Jon Landau (a coincidence, she said), Merchant became a solo star. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Tuva—the landlocked republic at the heart of Asia—is the home of the four-
piece Huun-Huur-Tu. Their “throat singing” has made them popular on the
Western world music circuit. Ancient nomadic hunter-herders who roamed the
Tuvan steppes developed throat singing, creating a deep, rhythmic growling
effect that brings forth eerie harmonics and otherworldly noises. A singer can
produce two or three notes at once: a low drone and a higher melody is produced
from the overtones of the drone note. The quartet combines this with traditional
Tuvan instruments.
The group’s philosophy is one of updating Tuvan folklore. Their origins in a
nomadic culture that values superb horse riding skills explain why many of their
songs concern horses. “Ching söörtükchülerining yryzy” (Song of the Caravan
Drivers) employs a rhythm derived from singing on horseback—as Huun-Huur-
Tu’s ancestors did. Bandleader Kaigal-ool Khovalyg sings in a warm manner
while the group backs him with vocals, stringed instruments, and shamanic
drums.
Tuva was ruled by the Soviet Union, and the decline of communism allowed
Tuvan throat singing to reach the west. Ry Cooder was among the musicians so
impressed that they collaborated with Huun-Huur-Tu; they also played with
Frank Zappa before his death, and “Song of the Caravan Drivers” is dedicated to
him. GC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Jones, Large Professor, Kool & The Gang, Porcaro, Bettis, Handy, C.
Redd, G. Redd, Smith, Horne
Producer | Large Professor
Label | Columbia
Album | Illmatic (1994)
Bloodlust and bling came to characterize rap as the Nineties wore on. But in
1994, the spotlight shone on two New York rappers whose fame rested on jaw-
dropping lyrical skills and astonishing production. One was The Notorious
B.I.G.; the other was Nasir bin Olu Dara Jones, aka “Nasty” Nas.
Like B.I.G., Nas worked his way up with cameos, notably on “Live at the
Barbeque” in 1991 by Main Source (featuring his producer, Large Professor). He
was hailed as a successor to legendary rapper Rakim, but Illmatic exceeded all
expectations. Its maker just twenty years old, this mature masterpiece became a
hip-hop landmark.
For all its excellence, Illmatic might have remained a cult favorite had its
closing track, and first hit, not nudged Nas into the mainstream. “It Ain’t Hard to
Tell” took its distinctive brass squeak from the 1971 single “N. T.” by Kool &
The Gang (a second-long sample that nonetheless meant the entire Gang
featured on the track’s credits). The recurring “Yeah!” came from Mountain’s
much-sampled live version of “Long Red” from 1972, and its beat is thought to
be from Stanley Clarke’s 1978 album cut “Slow Dance.”
But the most obvious sample, and the one that guaranteed airplay, was from
Michael Jackson’s Thriller hit “Human Nature.” The blend of this sumptuous
music and Nas’s evocative flow made “It Ain’t Hard to Tell” a natural hit. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Drum ’n’ bass was a British music movement that grew out of the hard-core
house and break-beat sub-genres. Typified by time-stretched break beats and
ominous bass lines, the scene became characterized as overly dark, thanks to its
often violent, criminal imagery.
But one man was determined to change that: Goldie. Admittedly, he too
seemed dangerously belligerent: “I was hearing all these other dark tunes,” he
told British TV’s Channel 4, “and I’d be going home and thinking, I’m going to
need to cut these people down.” But Goldie also had a wide range of influences
—“I’m a really big Pat Metheny fan,” he told djvibe.com—and grand plans.
At the end of 1994, the first sound of that plan was heard: the epic “Inner
City Life.” It boasted swirling strings, a clattering break beat that evolved
throughout the track, and Diane Charlemagne’s sweet, soulful vocals on top.
On the Timeless album, Goldie took his musical ideas further, incorporating
“Inner City Life” into a three-movement, twenty-one-minute symphonic piece.
Timeless reached No. 7 in the United Kingdom, reaped a slew of awards, and led
Goldie to work with David Bowie and Oasis’s Noel Gallagher on his follow-up,
Saturnz Return. In 2008, his symphonic ambitions were realized when an
orchestra and chorus piece he composed was played at London’s Royal Albert
Hall. DC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
End of a Century
Blur (1994)
A heartfelt lament, “End of a Century” was the last of four U.K. hits—after
“Girls & Boys,” “To the End,” and the title track—from Blur’s third studio
album, Britpop masterpiece Parklife.
The album’s most ear-catching opening line (“She says, ‘There’s ants in the
carpet’”) was inspired by the house that singer Damon Albarn shared with his
partner of the period, Justine Frischmann of fellow Britpop group Elastica.
The melancholy lyrics evoke a mundane relationship at the dying end of the
twentieth century: “We all say, ‘Don’t want to be alone’ We wear the same
clothes cause we feel the same Kiss with dry lips, when we say good night / End
of a century, oh it’s nothing special.”
Unlike many of their contemporaries, Blur did not shy away from
experimenting with different sounds and instruments. A flügelhorn forms the
bridge before Albarn sweetly—and saucily—harmonizes with guitarist Graham
Coxon: “Can you eat her? / Yes you can.”
Issued as a single in November 1994—in a Star Trek–inspired sleeve, with
the Starship Enterprise numbered “UN-1” (meaning “you ’n’ I”)—“End of a
Century” rose to only No. 19 in the U.K. singles chart at the time. But it became
one of the ten most popular Blur songs on last.fm and has always been a live
favorite, partly owing to the video being filmed at a triumphant Alexandra
Palace performance in London.
At Blur’s 2009 reunion gigs, Albarn changed a line from the original lyrics,
“And the mind gets dirty, as you get closer to thirty,” to “And the mind gets
filthy, as you get closer to fifty”—a wry acknowledgement of the years that had
passed since the song’s release. OM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Connection
Elastica (1994)
An artfully sexy song that is impossible not to move to, “Connection” opens
with a grinding guitar riff. “That was actually done on a keyboard,” leader
Justine Frischmann told Melody Maker. “But the sound is called ‘distorted
guitar.’”
The distinctive introduction was, however, highly reminiscent of Wire’s
“Three Girl Rhumba.” Wire’s publishers duly sued, but accepted an out-of-court
settlement on the eve of the release of the upstarts’ debut album. “Personally,”
Wire’s Bruce Gilbert told NME, “I have absolutely no problems with Justine or
the Elastica project and I like the music. It’s fascinating to some degree—it has
to be flattering—really, it’s quite curious. But if Wire did have an influence I’d
rather it be from an attitude point of view rather than from a musical point of
view.”
His colleague Colin Newman disagreed, telling Atlanta Weekly: “I really
didn’t like Britpop. I didn’t want to be anywhere associated with what [Elastica]
were doing.”
The supremely cool Frischmann, who rated the post-punk pioneers among
her favorites, remained unruffled. “I was delighted,” she told cdnow.com in
2000, “to see the first two Wire albums re-released after our first album started
doing quite well.”
Elastica were influenced by new wave and punk but gave their brittle songs a
pop twist. They also achieved something that many Britpop contemporaries only
dreamed of: Stateside sales.
Elastica endured whispers about their alleged plagiarism and speculation
about Frischmann’s involvement with Blur’s Damon Albarn. But this ignores the
strength of songs like “Connection,” which takes a blueprint and makes it their
own with hooks, hand claps, and spiky singing. OM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Confide in Me
Kylie Minogue (1994)
“Stick or twist, the choice is yours.” Kylie Minogue chose to twist at the end of
her contract with PWL—the label with whom she scored smashes like “I Should
Be So Lucky,” but by whom she was regarded as a puppet of her producers.
She promptly decamped to hipper-than-thou dance label Deconstruction. The
first fruits were a collaboration with remix crew Brothers in Rhythm (Steve
Anderson and Dave Seaman), and the signs were good: “Confide in Me” was a
huge hit in her adopted homeland Britain and native Australia.
Exploiting the then-voguish trip-hop sound, with brooding strings
reminiscent of Massive Attack’s “Unfinished Sympathy,” Minogue and her team
showed a feel for the times. The murky setting suited her high-pitched vocal,
creating a haunting lullaby that is worlds away from her shrill hits of earlier
days.
Controversy loomed when songwriter Owain Barton claimed the strings
mirrored the melody of his “It’s a Fine Day” (originally by indie group Jane, and
transformed into a hit for dance act Opus III). Later pressings added Barton’s
name to the credits. The shamanic guitar signature was a lift from The Doors’
epic of 1967, “The End,” while clattering beats rooted the track to the dance
floor.
The B-sides to “Confide in Me” were knowingly picked covers of songs by
Saint Etienne and Prefab Sprout, both perennially popular with critics, if not the
public. This illustrated the dichotomy at the heart of Minogue’s new direction: at
last she had found respect, but at the expense of her pop princess crown. And
indeed the big hits dried up before 2000’s triumphant “Spinning Around”
comeback—but Minogue had made her first truly artistic statement. MH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Your Ghost
Kristin Hersh featuring Michael Stipe (1994)
Throwing Muses’ leader was not thinking about releasing her first solo album
when she started laying down tracks that eventually formed Hips and Makers.
Kristin Hersh simply had tunes running around in her head and wanted them out.
Reasoning that these folksy, acoustic-based songs did not make sense for the
spiky Muses (contemporaries of the Pixies), she decided to record them on her
own.
A demo made its way to Hersh’s most famous friend, R.E.M.’s Michael
Stipe, who assumed the unofficial role of musical advisor. “Michael would call
me now and then,” Hersh recalled, “essentially just saying, ‘don’t fuck this up.’”
One conversation occurred while a rough recording of “Your Ghost” played in
the background, and Hersh realized that Stipe’s voice was the track’s missing
ingredient.
The resulting collaboration was as bewitching as anything that either icon
had sung. Hersh’s lyrics screamed with quiet desperation, illuminating by soft
candlelight the creepiness in the commonplace. The combination of strummed
guitar and Jane Scarpantoni’s low, rumbling cello sounded pretty at first, but it
didn’t take long for the menace to sink in. The whole arrangement was
unsettling, the musical equivalent of a puzzle where the pieces do not fit—and,
indeed, that was the case. “None of the notes I’m singing go with the notes I’m
playing,” Hersh admitted.
The single, released amid R.E.M. mania, helped Hips and Makers become
the biggest record of Hersh’s career, despite resistance from radio. “There are
stations in America that wouldn’t play ‘Your Ghost,’” she fumed, “because they
were playing ‘too many women’s songs.’” JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Doll Parts
Hole (1994)
“There’s being really low,” observed Joni Mitchell to Guitar World, “and then
there’s pretending to be low because it’s trendy to be miserable. There’s so much
falseness in that stuff. There’s a line in a Courtney song that stopped me: ‘I fake
it so real, I am beyond fake.’ That, at least, has an element of truth and revelation
in it.”
One of Courtney Love’s early inspirations, British singer Julian Cope, had
told her to live her life as if being followed by a movie camera. And, even before
she began a relationship with Nirvana’s front man Kurt Cobain, Love had plenty
of exposure to show business and its fakery—from stripping, through singing
with Faith No More, to verbal catfights with Madonna.
The plaintive “Doll Parts” is often interpreted as having a Cobain
connection. Yet she wrote this wry comment on fame before either of them were
household names: it was first recorded for a John Peel BBC radio session in
November 1991 (this mellower version was released on 1995’s Ask for It mini-
album). Its title has been variously attributed to Jacqueline Susann’s 1966 novel
Valley of the Dolls and the name of one of drummer Patty Schemel’s former
groups (although Schemel didn’t join Hole until 1992).
Whatever its inspiration, “Doll Parts”—like the rest of Live Through This—
confirmed Love as a magnificent, maturing writer. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
7 Seconds
Youssou N’Dour featuring Neneh Cherry (1994)
Live Forever
Oasis (1994)
Influenced by: So You Want to be a Rock ’n’ Roll Star • The Byrds
(1967)
Influence on: Could You Wait? • Silkworm (1997)
Covered by: Airport Girl (2003)
Other key tracks: Gold Soundz (1994) • Grounded (1995) • Shady
Lane (1997) • Stereo (1997)
All Apologies
Nirvana (1994)
Kurt Cobain’s suicide casts a retrospective shadow over his lyrics. On Internet
message boards, fans morbidly posit that the lyrics to “All Apologies”—the
closing song on Nirvana’s final studio album, In Utero—are a veiled farewell
and apology for taking his life. But while the lyrics’ sense of displacement and
alienation offers a window on the depression and confusion that dogged Cobain
throughout his years, the song dates to 1990.
Nirvana demoed a version in 1991 and played it at the U.K.’s Reading
Festival in August 1992. Cobain dedicated the song to Courtney Love, who had
given birth to their daughter Frances Bean a week before, and led the audience in
cheers of support for his troubled partner. Their adversarial relationship with the
world bleeds through the lyric, Cobain dreaming sweetly of “choking on the
ashes of her enemy.” But the chorus’s troubling hook—“Married / Buried”—
suggested there were no easy resolutions in Cobain’s worldview.
The song’s graceful, Beatlesque arrangement veered from the mangled
grunge that preceded it on In Utero. Cobain made it one of only two hits to
feature in the group’s MTV Unplugged appearance in 1993. The cello-
embellished, shredded vocal “All Apologies” was a highlight of that set. Like the
rest of their Unplugged performances, it was a first take, and suggested where
Cobain’s muse might have taken him next. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Hurt
Nine Inch Nails (1994)
The vitriolic 1989 debut album Pretty Hate Machine proved Nine Inch Nails
mastermind Trent Reznor a maestro of industrial noise and rancorous lyrics. Its
full-length follow-up added startling depth.
The Downward Spiral focuses on a character (often identified as Reznor)
trying to expunge everything—sex, religion, society—that holds him back, until
he is left facing death. The coda, “Hurt,” is a tortured evocation of addiction.
With lyrics that begin “I hurt myself today / To see if I still feel,” Reznor
cracks open his angst-ridden shell to expose the vulnerability within. The music
is stripped of NIN’s customary assault, bar climactic drums by Chris Vrenna (the
only musician other than Reznor to play on it).
Eight years later, Johnny Cash covered “Hurt.” “There’s more heart and soul
and pain in that song,” he told Rolling Stone, “than any that’s come along in a
long time.” In his hands, the track became a heartrending meditation on
mortality—made more poignant by Cash’s death in 2003.
“I was flattered,” Reznor told The Daily Telegraph, “but it also felt like
someone was kissing your girlfriend.” He was swayed by Mark Romanek’s
video, featuring Cash and his wife June Carter. “It had such an emotional
impact,” Reznor admitted. “Hearing someone, who’s actually one of the best in
the world at what they do, say, ‘I choose to cover your song.’” SF
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Long before Kurt Cobain and company got together, Chris Cornell was
drumming and singing for a group that helped pioneer the Seattle sound.
Soundgarden was one of the earliest groups to sign to the Sub Pop label and the
first of the grunge groups to receive mainstream recognition. “We,” recalled
Cornell, “were the ones to beat.”
By June 1994, Cobain was dead but grunge had become the new aristocracy.
Riding the crest of that wave, Soundgarden topped the Billboard chart with
Superunknown, and the “Black Hole Sun” video’s collection of eerie
suburbanites with fixed grins smearing their faces became an award-winning
classic.
Superunknown displayed a refreshing sense of melody, enhanced by
Cornell’s evolution from Robert Plant–style screecher to brooding crooner, and
the group’s experimentation. The keyboard-type sounds on “Black Hole Sun”
were achieved via a Leslie speaker, previously favored by The Beatles, Pink
Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and Jimi Hendrix. “It’s very Beatlesque,” guitarist Kim
Thayil told Guitar World, “and has a distinctive sound. It ended up changing the
song completely.”
The lyrics are hard to fathom, although Rolling Stone’s singling out “Times
are gone / For honest men” offers a clue. “It’s really difficult for a person to
create their own life and their own freedom,” observed Cornell. “It’s going to
become more and more difficult, and it’s going to create more and more
disillusioned people who become dishonest and angry.”
Despite this unhappy theme, the song had a stirringly sing-along feel—
making it an unlikely summer anthem. “Maybe,” Cornell quipped, “I could
rename it ‘Endless Black Hole Summer.’” SO
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Stone Temple Pilots’ 1992 debut album, Core, boasted enough metallic muscle
and radio-friendly hooks to ride on the coattails of the grunge phenomenon. Its
breakthrough single, “Plush,” struck some as eerily reminiscent of Pearl Jam,
and front man Scott Weiland’s vocals could easily have been mistaken for the
wounded burr of that group’s Eddie Vedder in a blindfold test.
Core ultimately secured the San Diego quartet eight platinum discs and a
Grammy for “Plush.” But it also won them a blitz of critical brickbats and
accusations of shameless bandwagon jumping.
The follow-up, 1994’s Purple, answered their critics with much stronger,
more diverse and more ambitious songwriting. Its flagship track, “Interstate
Love Song,” swapped the grunge for grand classic rock. Originally penned by
bassist Robert DeLeo while touring Core, the song began as a bossa nova
pastiche. “The entire chord structure,” DeLeo explained in 2006, “is an Antônio
Carlos Jobim [Brazilian bossa nova pioneer] thing.”
The gem took shape while the group was recording Purple in Atlanta,
Georgia. Blending acoustic guitar, colossal drums, Weiland’s road-worn
harmonies and a swaggering guitar hook, “Interstate Love Song” was timeless
enough to win Stone Temple Pilots an audience wider than impatient Pearl Jam
fans. It held pole position in Billboard’s Modern Rock charts for fifteen weeks.
Weiland’s struggles with addiction—which inspired the song’s regretful lyrics,
and scuppered a high-profile tour when he was arrested for possession of heroin
and cocaine—sent the group into a tailspin. Remarkably, they managed two
more platinum albums, but “Interstate Love Song” remains their shining
moment. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Waterfalls
TLC (1994)
“This is not just a song with a nice tune by three popular girls. This is
a song that means something.”
Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes, 1995
With their 1992 album, Ooooooohhh . . . On the TLC Tip! TLC had scored
multiplatinum success with sassy songs that were positive and empowered. The
first singles off CrazySexyCool—“Creep” and “Red Light Special”—suggested
they were getting sultry second time around. However, the third single—a wise,
melancholic song that painted the R&B trio in a more mature light—became
their signature track.
The chorus echoed Paul McCartney’s “Waterfalls” and featured guest vocals
from future Gnarls Barkley star Cee-Lo Green. Its “don’t go chasing waterfalls”
refrain warned of a world where kids get mixed up in crime and end up “another
body laying cold in the gutter.” The second verse warned against sleeping
around in the era of AIDS—safe sex was a pet cause for TLC, who once wore
condoms attached to their costumes. “When you become a ‘star,’” observed
Rozonda “Chilli” Thomas, “you are a role model.”
A mini-epic video accompanied “Waterfalls.” Directed by F. Gary Gray, and
featuring the Wu-Tang Clan’s young protégé Shyheim, it depicted the verses’
doomed drug dealer and AIDS victim. “It’s the video that brings the whole song
to light,” said Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes.
Lopes’s rap—a remorseful but hopeful spiel colored by her own chaotic life
—sealed the message. She was struggling with her own waterfalls, not least
tabloid infamy after accidentally incinerating her partner’s home. A car crash
claimed Lopes’s life in 2002.
In this context, lines like “Only my faith can undo / The many chances I
blew” grounded the song with an emotional punch that has not diminished since
it topped the charts. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Cornflake Girl
Tori Amos (1994)
“It’s about this idea that women are the good guys and men the bad
guys, which just isn’t true all the time.”
Tori Amos, 1994
Tori Amos is proof of the power of advertising. The musical maverick was once
a rosy-cheeked unknown cooing about Kellogg’s cereal in a commercial. Nine
years later, she released “Cornflake Girl”—her breakthrough rhapsody.
Amos likes to mix her inspiration. The principal influence that the
confessional singer-songwriter cited for this song was Alice Walker’s novel
Possessing the Secret of Joy, which delves into the world of ritual female genital
mutilation in Africa. Amos explained, “The fact is that women have betrayed
one another. I agree with Alice Walker when she talks about the cellular memory
that is passed down, which all women have to come to terms with. Whether it is
the women taking the daughters to the butchers to have their genitalia removed,
or the mothers that bound the feet of the daughters, it is often women who betray
their own kind, not just men.”
“Cornflake Girl” could sound depressing in the wrong hands, but Amos’s
charm conjures up a song that is as otherworldly as its subject. The piano
cascades, soft percussion, and ghostly chorus set it apart from the plod of
Britpop and post-grunge dominating transatlantic charts at the time.
Like Kate Bush before her, Amos creates an epic sound while keeping it
lean. The occasionally inscrutable lyrics (“Rabbit, where’d you put the keys,
girl?”) are delivered with the modest confidence of a woman at the top of her
game; unafraid of showing vulnerability and passion.
Amos called herself a “cornflake girl,” but there is nothing “cornflake-y”
about a woman at ease writing about female mutilation, breast-feeding a piglet
on an album sleeve, lending her vocals to a Nineties dance smash, and covering
Slayer. KBo
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Hallelujah
Jeff Buckley (1994)
“Hallelujah” is a soaring, sensual paean to love and loss. Before releasing the
song in 1984, writer Leonard Cohen spent years wrestling with the biblical and
sexual lyrics—producing eighty draft verses and making it ripe for interpretation
(there are more than two hundred covers, from Bob Dylan to Bon Jovi).
Jeff Buckley’s cover in 1994 proved definitive and continues to connect with
people worldwide. “The hallelujah is not a homage to a worshipped person, idol,
or god,” Buckley explained, “but the hallelujah of the orgasm.”
A cult classic in the Nineties, it became omnipresent in the Noughties. The
emotional power of Buckley’s octave-spanning voice made it perfect soundtrack
fodder for TV shows such as The West Wing. His outstanding talent, good looks,
and untimely death at the age of thirty—mirroring the early demise of his singer-
songwriter father Tim—created a marketable package. Yet it was not until 2008,
eleven years after his death, that Buckley had his first chart-topper. On the back
of a rendition on U.S. talent show American Idol, “Hallelujah” reached No. 1 on
download charts.
“I don’t want to do any more covers,” Buckley told Rolling Stone in 1994.
“It’s good to learn to make things your own, but the education’s over.” Little did
he know that “Hallelujah” was to become his greatest legacy. GK
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
The Nick Cave songbook is populated by malevolent, menacing figures. But the
lead character of “Red Right Hand”—a charismatic cultist on the edge of town—
is his most successful and disturbing creation.
The lyrics were largely ad-libbed. “I had the title,” Cave told Rolling Stone,
“and basically I knew what I wanted to sing about, and it was a matter of just
going in and putting it down.” He portrays God as a U.S. televangelist, a
huckster who rewards his followers with money, cars, and self-respect. But this
deity “ain’t what he seems”: beneath that benevolent exterior lurks the vengeful
God of the Old Testament. He hides his “red right hand”—a term used by poet
John Milton in Paradise Lost to describe the Lord’s wrath—in his “dusty black
coat.” Follow him, Cave warns, and you’ll be reduced to “one microscopic cog /
In his catastrophic plan.”
A spaghetti western backing from The Bad Seeds adds to the apocalyptic
feel. The track opens with a church bell, organ, and echo-laden guitar from Blixa
Bargeld. Underpinning everything is an almost funky bass line. (According to
Cave biographer Ian Johnstone, the recording was inspired by soul acts like
Isaac Hayes.) The song’s gothic grooves have become a favorite with directors
craving soundtrack spookiness, and “Red Right Hand” features in all three
Scream movies. TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Sabotage
Beastie Boys (1994)
Writer | Prince
Producer | Prince, Ricky Peterson
Label | NPG
Album | N/A
“Eligible bachelor seeks the most beautiful girl in the world to spend
the holidays with.”
Prince, 1994
Sour Times
Portishead (1994)
In 1994, the echoes of grunge were still reverberating around the globe. But, in
the United Kingdom, new local heroes were stepping up—and, in Bristol,
Portishead were helping to pioneer the ephemeral but fondly remembered genre
known as trip-hop. Nonetheless, protested main man Geoff Barrow to
suicidegirls.com, “‘We write music for people to chill out to’—that’s the biggest
misconception you could ever have.”
“Sour Times,” Portishead’s second single, was certainly more chilling than
chilled. Fusing hip-hop beats with Beth Gibbons’s lovelorn lyrics and doleful
vocals, it resembled a funked-up 1960s noir soundtrack. “I don’t actually think
the songs are that desperate,” Gibbons protested to Hot Press. “I do have an
emptiness—but, then again, everyone has, to a lesser or greater degree. I tend to
dwell on mine more than other people do, which I’m sure manifests itself in my
lyrics.”
Amid the song’s wonderfully claustrophobic mix of influences, from John
Barry to Billie Holiday, the eerie dulcimer sample and bass riff came from
“Danube Incident” by U.S. composer Lalo Schifrin—the man responsible for the
original Mission: Impossible theme, as well as music for Dirty Harry and Bullitt.
The track didn’t make much impact on its first release, but aided by a video
drawn from Portishead’s short film To Kill a Dead Man (and a reissue in 1995),
it joined the hit “Glory Box” as springboards from which Dummy rocketed to
classic status. Some believed Portishead could never match that album. But a
version of “Sour Times” from Roseland NYC Live in 1998—on which Gibbons’s
vocal builds into a fierce crescendo—makes the original seem almost tame. GR
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Army of Me
Björk (1995)
Champagne Supernova
Oasis (1995)
The Fever
Garth Brooks (1995)
“I’d rather stay with country radio,” said Garth Brooks in 1992, “so people know
where they can find me.” But by 1995, he had joined the all-time best sellers—
and could do whatever he wished.
Fresh Horses was intended to showcase Nashville’s best country writers.
However, Brooks was unmoved by the songs submitted: “It was like people
were guessing where we were going.” Eventually, he co-wrote eight of the ten
tracks.
The album featured “Fever,” from Aerosmith’s Get a Grip. But the song
contained lyrics that even front man Steven Tyler’s bandmates had objected to:
“The buzz that you be gettin’ from the crack don’t last / I’d rather be O.D.in’ on
the crack of her ass.” A rewrite was called for.
“I had a couple of buddies . . . that had a song called ‘Roll Out the Barrel and
Send in the Clowns,’” Brooks told the Boston Globe. “It was a rodeo tune and
that lyric kept going in my head. Then when I heard Aerosmith’s ‘Fever,’ I
thought, ‘Wow, if you put the two together . . .’”
Tyler, reported Brooks, “was very sweet and emphasized how much they
love their music, ‘so take care of it when you’re cutting it.’ I thought that was a
cool thing to hear from a guy who’s known for being so freewheeling.” But “The
Fever”—with revisions by Dan Roberts and Bryan Kennedy—still proved to be
too much for U.S. country radio, which blacklisted it. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Kung Fu
Ash (1995)
1979
The Smashing Pumpkins (1995)
“It’s kind of a restless period with a lot of sexual energy and you’re
stuck in fucking nowhere.”
Billy Corgan, 1996
Common People
Pulp (1995)
Writer | Nick Banks, Jarvis Cocker, Candida Doyle, Steve Mackey, Russell
Senior
Producer | Chris Thomas
Label | Island
Album | Different Class (1995)
“‘Common People’ should’ve been a No. 1 any week. The lyrics are
hilarious.”
Noel Gallagher, Oasis, 1995
Influenced by: Fanfare For the Common Man • Emerson, Lake &
Palmer (1977)
Influence on: Sliding Through Life on Charm • Marianne Faithfull
(2002)
Covered by: William Shatner & Joe Jackson (2004) • Tori Amos
(2005)
“She came from Greece She had a thirst for knowledge She studied sculpture at
St. Martin’s College”—so opens a call to arms against class tourism that
catapulted Pulp from cult group to the mainstream. Front man Jarvis Cocker’s
creation of the two-fingered organ intro on a cheap Casio set the tone for a time
when Britpop had its own class war in the shape of Blur vs. Oasis.
Producer Chris Thomas, whose credentials included the Sex Pistols and
Roxy Music, was hired, said Cocker, because “he had a neck brace on—our kind
of person.” In his hands, the song built to its sing-along crescendo with
sociopolitical sentiments to rival “God Save the Queen.”
The lyrics depict a working-class man’s encounter with a wealthy art student
whose idea of glamor involves hanging out in London’s East End. “It seemed to
be in the air, that kind of patronising social voyeurism, slumming it, the idea that
there’s a glamor about low-rent, low-life,” Cocker told Q in 1996. “I felt that of
[Blur’s] Parklife, for example, or Natural Born Killers—there is that ‘noble
savage’ notion.”
Cocker claimed to have forgotten the girl’s real identity but admitted to half-
truths in his autobiographical lyrics. She may not have studied sculpture, but the
line scanned better. And, although it implies that she wanted to bed him, he
resorted to poetic license to enhance the narrative. Cocker had the last laugh as
the song propelled him from left-field eccentric to pop star and British national
treasure.
Nearly a decade after it became a British Top-Ten hit, the song enjoyed a
peculiar renaissance when Star Trek veteran William Shatner released his
version in 2004. SS
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“‘Where the Wild Roses Grow’ was written very much with Kylie in
mind. I’d wanted to write a song for Kylie for many years.”
Nick Cave, 2007
Influenced by: Down in the Willow Garden • Hobart Smith & Texas
Gladden (c. 1940)
Influence on: Burst Lethargic • The Silence Kits (2006)
Covered by: Chicks on Speed & Kriedler (2001) • Chiasm (2006)
Other key tracks: Stagger Lee (1996)
Death and violence have always haunted the music of Nick Cave & The Bad
Seeds. So it came as no surprise when Murder Ballads consisted of nothing but
these morbid subjects. What was unexpected was one of Cave’s guest singers.
“Where the Wild Roses Grow” saw alt-rock’s dark emperor unite with pop
princess Kylie Minogue. Although the artists had nothing in common bar their
Australian roots, Cave had long wished to work with her. His bandmate Mick
Harvey duly called Minogue’s then-boyfriend, Michael Hutchence of INXS.
“So,” Cave told Great Australian Albums, “Michael’s going, ‘Hey, do you
wanna do a song with Nick Cave?’ and she’s going, ‘Oh yeah, I’ll do that!’”
“We actually left messages with each other’s mothers,” recalled Minogue.
“Can you imagine—Nick Cave calling: ‘Hi, is that Mrs. Minogue? Is Kylie
there?’ . . . The first day I met Nick was the day that I did my vocals, and that
was so lovely.”
The traditional folk ballad “Down in the Willow Garden,” on which the song
is based, is the confession of a man awaiting execution for stabbing his lover to
death. Cave twisted this into a dialogue between the killer and his slain
sweetheart. The result was disturbing yet sensual, with sumptuous strings
backing Cave and Minogue’s heart-wrenching vocals.
Aided by a dreamlike video, the song soared up the British and Australian
charts, and became the group’s most successful single worldwide. “I was on Top
of the Pops two weeks running . . .” Cave told writer Debbie Kruger. “This little
kid [came] up to me in a Power Rangers outfit, and he goes, ‘Are you that old
guy that was on with Kylie Minogue the other night?’” BC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Insomnia
Faithless (1995)
Writer | Rollo, Maxi Jazz, Sister Bliss Producer | Rollo, Sister Bliss
Label | Cheeky
Album | Reverence (1996)
Scream
Michael & Janet Jackson (1995)
“He was very upset and very angry,” Janet Jackson told MTV of Michael
Jackson’s first release since 1993’s abuse allegations, “and he had so much pent
up in him that he wanted to get out and say.”
Michael hadn’t collaborated with Janet since she sang backing vocals on
Thriller’s “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young Thing).” Now he enlisted Jimmy Jam and
Terry Lewis—the producers who transformed his sister into an R&B vixen—for
his cathartic return.
“We had the title but we really didn’t know what the song was going to be
about,” Jam told Q. The producers recorded potential tracks for the star’s
approval: “An L.A. studio put in a new sound system which was supposed to be
specially for Michael—and he blew it up the first day!”
Lewis recalled an “unassuming” Michael recording in December 1994. “He
sang ‘Scream’ for thirty minutes, and that was it,” he told the Omaha World-
Herald. “After it was over, he had to take a nap. You can feel the energy on the
tape.”
A spectacular song demanded a spectacular video. “They gave me about
three weeks to prepare for something they wanted to be enormous,” director
Mark Romanek told the Chicago Tribune. His seven-million-dollar production
was music’s costliest clip, but it was money well spent. This compelling mix of
raw emotion, punchy production, and otherworldly visuals restored the King of
Pop’s crown. EP
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Alanis Morissette put the “grr” in Grammy with this award-winning, fist-in-the-
air angst anthem. Smarting from a messy break up, she channeled her rage into a
storming song that shifted her from the ditzy pop of her youth to worldwide
stadiums. “You Oughta Know” was a slap in the face and a step in the right
direction.
Signed by Madonna’s Maverick label, Morissette paved the way for a new
generation of take-no-prisoners female singer-songwriters. “She reminds me of
me when I started out,” Madonna told Rolling Stone, “Slightly awkward but
extremely self-possessed and straightforward.”
There is certainly something of the determined and candid Ciccone in lyrics
like, “Are you thinking of me while you fuck her?” These verbal volleys were a
jolt to the charts and the undisclosed identity of her ex-boyfriend became as
intriguing as the subject of Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain.”
But “You Oughta Know” is not just an angry by numbers kiss-off. “That
song wasn’t written for the sake of revenge,” Morissette announced, “It was
written for the sake of release.”
It is also an arresting hunk of rock with a walloping hook courtesy of then
Red Hot Chili Peppers bandmates Flea and Dave Navarro (and keyboards by
Benmont Tench of Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers). In 2009, Britney Spears
sang a tellingly faithful cover on her Circus tour. KBo
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Gary Barlow Producer | Chris Porter, Gary Barlow Label | RCA
Album | Nobody Else (1995)
After four years of reheated disco and lightweight love songs, Take That scored
their biggest and most enduring hit with “Back for Good,” a ballad that took
leader Gary Barlow only ten minutes to write. The group’s farewell came a year
later with a cover of the Bee Gees’ “How Deep Is Your Love”—but this song
will be forever linked with the splintering of the U.K.’s biggest boy band,
triggered by the exit of Robbie Williams. After the group imploded, Williams
spiced up early solo gigs with a sarcastic, punked-up version of the song.
“Back for Good” has since become a wedding staple, despite its maudlin
evocation of unrequited love. Its use as a love theme between two characters in
the original U.K. version of The Office gave it a new lease of life in the 2000s.
“It’s a very easy song,” Barlow admitted in 2008. Inspired by a friend’s
suggestion that the best pop songs were the least complex, he thought, “Let me
see if I can write a song using just three or four chords.” On top of an ascending
four-chord progression, Barlow laid down a plaintive lament with which anyone
who has loved and lost can identify. In the final section, the backing vocals and
lead vocal trade places, to touching effect.
Long admired by Oasis’s Noel Gallagher, the song received another
champion in the next decade. Coldplay’s Chris Martin eulogized it and even
performed it live. JMc See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Stupid Girl
Garbage (1995)
The label “perfect pop” was often bandied about in the 1990s, applied to acts
ranging from Take That to Saint Etienne. But it made perfect sense when applied
to Garbage, formed by über-producer Butch Vig. Having helmed Nirvana’s
Nevermind, Vig turned his part-time playing into a full-time group. The most
notable of his recruits was Scottish singer and keyboard player Shirley Manson.
Despite being the band’s only non-American, Manson was an instant fit, her
emotional vocals offsetting the boys’ semi-electronic rock.
“A lot of the songs come from jamming,” Vig told The Band. “‘Stupid Girl’
happened that way.” Among the song’s masterstrokes was a loop from The
Clash brought to the studio by guitarist Steve Marker—while its distinctive
grinding sound was, bassist Duke Erikson told Addicted to Noise, “initially a
mistake [which], when we slowed it down, actually fit the timbre and pace of the
song and became the hook.”
The song was topped by Manson’s lyrics about a manipulative female
doomed to a life of shallowness and deceit, although she said it was “about a
million girls and boys that we all know.” “It could just as easily be called ‘Stupid
Boy,’” she told Raw in 1996. “It’s just a song of reproach.”
The song’s success was aided by a remix by Danny Saber—whose
arrangement Garbage took to playing live—and a distinctive video by Samuel
Bayer, who had directed Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit” promo.
“There was a lot of talk about the dress I wore in the ‘Stupid Girl’ video,”
Manson told Spin in 1997. “Everybody was, like, ‘Which designer?’ or ‘What
style is that? It’s so gorgeous.’ I got it for fifteen dollars at a teen store in
Madison.” JMc
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Miss Sarajevo
Passengers (1995)
Writer | Passengers
Producer | Brian Eno, Bono, Adam Clayton, The Edge, Larry Mullen Jr.
Label | Island
Album | Original Soundtracks 1 (1995)
Influenced by: The Great Gig in the Sky • Pink Floyd (1973)
Influence on: Live Like Horses • Elton John & Luciano Pavarotti
(1996)
Covered by: George Michael (1999)
“There has always been a bit of tension between U2 and Brian Eno,” reported
the group’s manager Paul McGuinness, “because Brian regards himself as a
creative force. I think he finds it frustrating that, within the parameters we’ve set,
he is not a writer, he is one of the producers.”
Ten years after their association with Eno began—on The Unforgettable Fire
—U2 reached a solution to this impasse: collaborating with their producer on a
soundtrack for Peter Greenaway’s movie The Pillow Book. When this fell
through, they formed a new collective—Passengers—and wrote songs for
imaginary films.
Meanwhile, opera superstar Luciano Pavarotti was pestering U2’s front man
Bono: “He had been crank-calling the house. He told me that if I didn’t write
him a song, God would be very cross.” Eventually, the maestro turned up at
U2’s studio, film crew in tow, and persuaded Bono (and guitarist The Edge) to
grace his annual charity concert in Modena, Italy—at which “Miss Sarajevo”
was premiered in September 1995.
Bono’s lyrical inspiration was a beauty contest in the war-torn capital of
Bosnia and Herzegovina. The album’s sleeve notes duly hail “the dark humor of
the besieged Sarajevans, their stubborn refusal to be demoralized,” suggesting
that “surrealism and Dadaism are the appropriate responses to fanaticism.” With
Pavarotti on tenor vocals and a string arrangement by orchestrator-to-the-stars
(Massive Attack and Madonna among others) Craig Armstrong, the majestic
song emerged triumphant. Bono came to regard “Miss Sarajevo” as his favorite
U2 song, and his performances of it on their Vertigo tour in 2005 and 2006
raised many a goosebump. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
River of Deceit
Mad Season (1995)
Hardly joyful at the best of times, the Seattle grunge scene had, by late 1994,
become very gloomy indeed. In the extended wake of Kurt Cobain’s suicide,
Pearl Jam nearly imploded while making the bitter Vitalogy, Screaming Trees
began to splinter, and Alice in Chains slowly sank.
The latter’s inactivity was spurred by singer Layne Staley, whose heroin
addiction—long a lyrical inspiration—had begun to govern his entire life.
However, he was tempted out to play by Pearl Jam guitarist Mike McCready and
The Walkabouts bassist John Baker Saunders, who met in rehab. With
Screaming Trees drummer Barrett Martin, they became Mad Season, and
recorded a bleak and bluesy album. “River of Deceit” was its shimmering
highlight, equaling the best of its makers’ primary groups. “I told him,”
McCready recalled to Rolling Stone, “‘You do what you want. . . . You’re the
singer.’ He’d come in, and he’d do these beautiful songs.”
Staley despaired of fans following his narcotic example, and regretted his
involvement with heroin. His message in “River of Deceit” was simple: “My
pain is self chosen.” “I was under the mistaken theory I could help him out,”
reflected the then-sober McCready. “I wanted to lead by example.” Sadly,
Saunders overdosed in 1999, followed by Staley three years later. “River of
Deceit” remains their eerie epitaph. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Dear Mama
2Pac (1995)
“When I was pregnant in jail, I thought I was gonna have a baby and the baby
would never be with me. But I was acquitted a month and three days before
Tupac was born. I was real happy—because I had a son.” So runs Afeni
Shakur’s introduction to the video of her son’s best-loved hit.
Afeni had been imprisoned for her involvement with African-American
revolutionaries the Black Panthers. In a grim twist, Tupac’s tribute to her was
released while he was incarcerated on a sexual-assault charge (compounding the
irony, Tupac was one of the few gangsta rappers to empathize with women, with
songs such as “Brenda’s Got a Baby”).
His gorgeous song heavily featured a sample of “In All My Wildest
Dreams,” from The Crusaders keyboardist Joe Sample’s album, Rainbow Seeker.
But its chorus and theme were based on “Sadie,” from New and Improved by
soul veterans The Spinners (aka The Detroit Spinners). Tupac’s candid
interpretation, however, did not shy away from detailing his mother’s personal
flaws, notably her drug addiction.
“The wonderful thing about that song,” Afeni reflected on the first
anniversary of her son’s 1996 death, “is that [it] is something that I share with
millions, probably, of women across this country, and probably across the world.
. . . It’s a gift from Tupac to women who’ve maybe not been perfect, who’ve
made mistakes.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Guilty by Association
Joe Henry and Madonna (1996)
“The weird thing is how my sister-in-law became a cultural icon,” said Joe
Henry. “I thought you had to shoot a president to do that.” The country rocker’s
association with pop’s greatest star was once limited to being married to her
sister Melanie. However, in 1996, they united in aid of Vic Chesnutt, a singer-
songwriter paralyzed in a car crash at the age of eighteen. Although championed
by R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe, Chesnutt failed to sell enough albums to pay his
medical expenses—hence a tribute collection, featuring admirers from R.E.M. to
Nanci Griffith.
“The song I covered,” Henry told Q, “is ‘Guilty by Association,’ which Vic
wrote about the albatross of Michael Stipe’s celebrity. Somehow Vic got
Michael to sing backing vocals on the song without him knowing that the song
was about him. So when I asked if I could do that song—because I didn’t know
what it was about either—somebody said, ‘Why don’t you get Madonna to sing
Michael’s part?’ Seeing as how the irony is so rich and it was going to benefit
Vic, I was willing to make the phone call. She was a good sport.”
The result was a career highlight for both stars, whose voices blended over a
beautiful, Pink Floydian backing. The association continued, and Henry co-
penned songs on Madonna’s Music, Confessions on a Dance Floor, and Hard
Candy. Sadly, Chesnutt died on Christmas Day, 2009. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Carlos Núnez has gained wide recognition playing one of the world’s most
derided instruments—the bagpipes. His brilliance on the gaida (the Spanish
bagpipes) allowed for a reconsideration of the instrument and made Núnez
heavily in demand, both as a solo artist and as a sideman with the likes of The
Chieftains, Ry Cooder, Sharon Shannon, and Sinéad O’Connor. Núnez hails
from Galicia, a region in northwestern Spain with a strong folk music tradition.
Galicians are extremely proud of their roots music, in which the gaida features
predominantly, and their music has many affinities with the Celtic music of
Ireland and Brittany.
Born in 1971, Núnez began learning the gaida aged eight. A musical
prodigy, he was befriended by Irish traditional music supergroup The Chieftains
as a young man and has played with them so often that they refer to Núnez as
“the seventh Chieftain.” His debut solo album, 1996’s A irmandade das estrelas
(The Brotherhood of Stars), was a big hit in Spain, selling more than 100,000
copies—the first time Celtic music sold enough to go platinum in Spain—and
winning a wide international audience for Galician music.
Núnez’s beautiful playing on “A irmandade das estrelas” is haunting yet
peaceful. He has further broadened the audience of Galician music by working
with musicians from other traditions, including flamenco and Basque music. GC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Brooklyn’s Finest
Jay-Z featuring The Notorious B.I.G. (1996)
“Me an’ Biggie an’ Busta [Rhymes], we all went to school together,” Jay-Z told
VladTV.com. “I remember B.I.G. would never talk about rappin’ . . . Busta was
always talkin’ ’bout rappin’. We went at it one time in the lunchroom. I got ’em
good!”
By 1996, B.I.G. (aka Biggie) was a star, and Jay-Z was working on his
debut. At the behest of Jay’s right-hand man Damon Dash, Biggie agreed to cut
a track with his old rival. “I was adamantly against it . . .” producer and friend
Irv Gotti told XXL. “I said, ‘What I’m scared of is you doin’ it with Biggie and
you comin’ off like his little man.’ . . . Go ’head and listen to that record—’It’s
time to separate the pros from the cons / The platinum from the bronze . . .’—
he’s goin’ at him real tough.” (Producer Clark Kent, who originally made the
backing for Dash’s act Future Sound, added the “Jay-Z and Biggie Smalls, nigga
shit ya drawers” hook.)
As predicted, B.I.G. came off best, not least in his laconic response to rival
rapper 2Pac’s claims to have bedded Biggie’s wife, Faith Evans: “If Fay had
twins, she’d probably have two Pac’s / Get it? Tu–pac’s.” Jay, who also came
under fire from 2Pac, got off shots of his own in the song’s trigger-happy
introduction, based on the movie Carlito’s Way. Jay and B.I.G. became friends,
but the latter’s murder in 1997 put paid to hopes of an album-length
collaboration. The storming “Brooklyn’s Finest” proves what could have been.
BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
This brooding breakthrough for Eels was an unlikely hit in the era of
“Macarena” and the Spice Girls. Indeed, there is plenty in “Novocaine for the
Soul” that just should not work in the pop charts.
The title name-checks what front man E described as “a chemical that Steven
Spielberg invented . . . dentists in America put it in your mouth to make it feel
numb before they drill your teeth.” A warped sample from Fats Domino’s song
“Let the Four Winds Blow,” released in 1961, is layered with a twisted tinkle on
a toy instrument, sinister strings, and grunge guitars that would not sound out of
place in film noir. “A big lightbulb went on above my head,” E told Drop-D
Magazine, “when I realized that I could use sampling in the context of my songs
and that it would add another dimension to the music.” The result was a skulking
pop odyssey.
“‘Novocaine for the Soul’ is not really an optimistic song,” he told French
radio in 1996, “because it’s about everything that the rest of the [Beautiful
Freak] record is the opposite of. ‘Novocaine for the Soul’ is about not feeling
your feelings—but the whole record is about getting down to the bottom of
what’s underneath everything on the surface. It’s actually, I think, a very
optimistic album.”
Nonetheless, the song is strangely uplifting. “It’s like the Motown formula,”
he said. “They would take a really sad lyric and put happy music to it.” The
accompanying video features the band suspended on wires, as if in flight.
(Director Mark Romanek was inspired by the movie Mary Poppins.) E’s
reassuring calm and plain-speaking honesty perfectly offset the mish-mash of
melancholy, and “Novocaine for the Soul” rewards repeat listens. KBo
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Ready or Not
Fugees (1996)
Influenced by: Ready or Not Here I Come (Can’t Hide from Love)
• The Delfonics (1968)
Influence on: I Don’t Wanna Know • Mario Winans featuring Enya
& P. Diddy (2004)
Covered by: The Course (1997)
The last thing hip-hop needed in 1994 was more gangstas—especially the
Fugees, who proved unconvincing thugs on their debut Blunted on Reality. The
genre needed a breath of fresh air, which the trio delivered with their sophomore
outing. The Score is packed with positive messages and killer songs, including
covers of old favorites, such as Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly with His
Song” and Bob Marley’s “No Woman, No Cry.” However, most striking is
“Ready or Not,” which is now considered the group’s finest moment.
The song sparkles with originality, despite its hefty samples of The Delfonics
and “Boadicea” by Enya. “I was completely hurt,” the latter told The New York
Times, “because on the back of their album, the other people who are sampled
are credited and I’m not. . . . When their manager heard about it, he got in touch
with me and Nicky and Roma [Ryan, Enya’s collaborators] and apologized. I
was concerned about my fans because a lot of rap albums have obscene language
and I didn’t want people to think I would be involved. But their manager
explained the band’s message and that it’s different because it’s hip-hop, not rap.
. . . I know what it’s like to work so hard in the studio, so we decided to let them
leave the song on.” She was eventually paid royalties.
All three Fugees (Wyclef Jean, Lauryn Hill, and Pras Michel) perform on the
track, but the best lines belong to Hill: “So while you imitatin’ Al Capone / I be
Nina Simone and defecating on your microphone.” “Ready or Not” spent two
weeks in the No. 1 spot in the U.K. charts; the song helped the Grammy Award-
winning The Score sell more than eighteen million copies and become a hip-hop
landmark. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Firestarter
Prodigy (1996)
Following Music for the Jilted Generation in 1994, The Prodigy spent two years
on the road, aiming to bury their rave origins and achieve international success.
Yet it was only after the band took a break from touring—and unleashed
“Firestarter”—that they accomplished that mission.
With a revised name—Prodigy—they amped up the rock and hip-hop that
had made Jilted’s “Their Law” and “Poison” so popular. “Firestarter” boasts
brutal beats and guitars, with memorable samples: a bit of The Breeders
(“Cannonball”); a dash of Art of Noise. “Not really a song,” noted Pet Shop Boy
Neil Tennant. Prodigy supremo Liam Howlett concurred, “It’s more like . . . an
energy!”
Vocalist Keith Flint used the song as a coming-out party for his punk-style,
front-man persona. “He expresses himself onstage dancing,” Howlett told writer
Ben Thompson, “but I guess he felt like he’d done as much as he could do in that
area, and he just needed something else to let himself go with. . . . We both just
sat down and wrote the lyrics. Basically, they’re just a description of Keith: what
happens with him onstage, the way he is—his headstrong personality. That
record sums him up.”
The startling video and violent lyrics caused controversy, albeit nothing
compared to the later “Smack My Bitch Up.” Nonetheless, “Firestarter”—
released a year before its parent album—became Prodigy’s first worldwide
smash. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Tori Amos Producer | Tori Amos, Armand Van Helden Label |
Atlantic Album | N/A
“Courtney Love gives good copy,” Tori Amos remarked to Australia’s Herald
Sun. The original, harpsichord-driven version of “Professional Widow” is
thought to be about Love, whom Nine Inch Nails main man Trent Reznor
blamed for “meddling” in his relationship with Amos. The latter refused to
refute this: “We have mutual friends. I don’t want to put them in a bad position.”
But the song was also about herself: “‘Widow’ is my hunger for the energy I felt
some of the men in my life possessed: the ability to be king.”
When an Atlantic executive suggested that DJ Armand Van Helden produce
a dance remix of the song, Amos made just one suggestion: that it be different.
“I was free to experiment,” said Van Helden, “and, having just returned from
Ibiza, I was feeling extra creative.” His bass-heavy, eight-minute-plus remix
retains just two lines of the original—repeated over and over—and an
inscrutable interlude referring to boxing legend Muhammad Ali. But not
“Starfucker, just like my daddy”—one of the lyrics that Amos herself censored
on her Welcome to Sunny Florida concert DVD. The aim was a hit, after all.
And they got one: “Professional Widow” topped the U.S. Dance Play and
U.K. singles charts, boosted Van Helden’s reputation, and enhanced a reissue of
Amos’s Boys for Pele (from which the original song came). AG
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Nancy Boy
Placebo (1996)
“It’s obscene. A song this rude should not be No. 4 in the charts.”
Brian Molko, 1997
With a sprinkle of glam, a spike of punk, and a heap of attitude, Placebo shook
up the mainstream with the gender-defying “Nancy Boy.” It appeared to flaunt
the trio’s debauchery—a lifestyle that singer/guitarist Brian Molko reveled in.
With lyrics such as “Different partner every night / So narcotic outta sight,”
the song seemed a naive celebration of sex, drugs, and cross-dressing. However,
Molko told Melody Maker, “It criticizes people who think it’s fashionable to be
gay—guys who think that they are going to try it out because they’re in a milieu
where it’s cool, but they haven’t actually felt the desire themselves.”
While the risqué lyrics guaranteed exposure, the track’s sheer exuberance
hooked listeners. Staccato guitars and explosive drums provided an intoxicating
backdrop for Molko’s acerbic, high-pitched vocals. The payoff was a Top Five
U.K. hit.
However, the band had spawned a Frankenstein’s monster. “Some people
say that this is the best song that we ever wrote,” Molko grumbled onstage, “and
we say bull-s-h-i-t!” Concerned that the song was pigeonholing them and having
lost emotional connection with it, they excluded “Nancy Boy” from their set list
for four years. “I’ve always felt that it was the most moronic of all the songs that
we’ve ever written,” Molko informed Kerrang! “In fact, during rehearsals, I’d
apologize to the rest of the band for the lyrical content of that song.”
Fortunately, a change of heart accompanied the release of their album Once
More with Feeling: Singles 1996–2004. “We realized that we’d have to exhume
the corpse eventually,” explained Molko, “and, because of the break, it actually
became fun to play again.” BC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Devil’s Haircut
Beck (1996)
Writer | Beck Hansen, John King, Michael Simpson, James Brown, Phil
Coulter, Thomas Kilpatrick
Producer | Beck Hansen, Dust Brothers
Label | Geffen
Album | Odelay (1996)
Romance rarely figured on the Wu-Tang Clan’s early agenda. New York’s rap
crew revolutionized the genre, but through raging rhymes and innovative
production, not love songs. However, on tour, Method Man—the Clan’s laconic
front man—missed Shortie, his girlfriend. He promptly flew her to Los Angeles
and wrote a rap for her. The result was the grinding “I’ll Be There for You”—
based on Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell’s “You’re All I Need to Get By”—on
his solo album, Tical (1994).
“I didn’t know the original song,” Def Jam chief executive Lyor Cohen told
the New York Times. “Everybody told me that it was this old Marvin Gaye
record, and I said, ‘Wow, if we could only get Mary J. and Meth together on it.’
I was just thinking of making Meth bigger and more mainstream and using her
as a vehicle.” Blige obliged, and Cohen bribed the reluctant Meth with money
for a Lexus. The oddly spooky yet romantic revamp appeared as “I’ll Be There
for You/You’re All I Need to Get By.” Aided by Def Jam’s costly video, the
song—featuring mixes by RZA and Puff Daddy—went platinum.
“The song is real . . .” Meth declared. “Everybody wants to be the toughest—
calling women ho’s, whatever. . . . If that’s the kind of women you be with, it’s
your own damn fault. Everybody’s saying, ‘Guns, guns, kill, kiiiillll,
murdermurdermurder.’ But there has to be someone in your life that you show
your real love to.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Criminal
Fiona Apple (1996)
Intense and traumatized, Fiona Apple had been writing songs since she was a
young girl. “Everyone assumed I’m crazy,” she told Mojo, “because I’m not
running around chewing bubblegum and singing Debbie Gibson songs.”
Released when she was just eighteen, Apple’s debut album, Tidal, was
extraordinarily accomplished. Her deep, rich voice, and producer Andrew
Slater’s imaginative arrangements, evoked comparisons ranging from Billie
Holiday to Laura Nyro. While much of the album drifted in a beguiling, jazzy
haze, “Criminal” was a rollicking, bluesy belter, whose self-lacerating lyrics
Apple mitigated with a tongue-in-cheek delivery.
The song was distinguished for the public by a striking Mark Romanek video
that saw Apple mostly in underwear among unclad, faceless bodies. “I called
Mark and we talked about his idea that the song is about guilty pleasures and
sexual deviance . . .” she told Interview magazine. “Feeling a little bad about it,
but enjoying it all the same. It corresponded with my meaning of the song.”
Pushed by MTV, “Criminal” became her breakthrough song, gathering awards
and propelling Tidal to multiplatinum. “I’m a huge fan of her music,” wrote
Marilyn Manson in 1997.
III-suited to success, Apple gave a bitter speech at an MTV awards show that
began: “This world is bullshit.” Many of her reservations sprang from the
“Criminal” video—whose bevy of “female extras who are paid to be pretty”
exacerbated Apple’s poor self-image—and the awards confirmed a conviction
that she had “sold out.” “I’d saved myself from misfit status,” she wrote on her
website, “but I’d betrayed my own kind by becoming a paper doll in order to be
accepted.” SO
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Crash into Me
Dave Matthews Band (1996)
The Dave Matthews Band’s major-label debut, 1994’s Under the Table and
Dreaming, produced five singles and went platinum within months. Yet the
Virginia quintet had plenty to prove, such as whether their irregular rock mix—
featuring violin and saxophone, but lacking electric guitar—could sustain the
public’s interest.
They accomplished all of that, and more, on Crash—and, really, with one
song. Matthews had never released anything like “Crash into Me,” and its
sophistication clearly distanced his group from their jam band peers. With
sweetly strummed acoustic guitar, “Crash into Me” sounded like a
straightforward ballad—but its lyrics suggested that the narrator’s obsession
tended toward the maniacal. There was definitely some degree of stalking going
on, complete with a description of spying on the subject. “I wrote this song
rather than peering in the window, for fear of being arrested,” Matthews
deadpanned on VH1 Storytellers.
Voyeurism had rarely sounded sexier than on the song’s most quoted lyric.
However, Matthews told Blender magazine, “That’s probably the worst line that
I’ve ever written. I’ve had to answer for that line more than anything. We were
recording ‘Crash into Me,’ and then it got to the end. I’m always rambling on so,
to amuse myself and [producer] Steve Lillywhite, I sang, ‘Hike up your skirt a
little more and show the world to me.’ I guess it stuck in people’s minds.”
The song was a hit that helped Crash sell more than seven million copies in
the United States alone. It also provided the Dave Matthews Band with new
fans, who helped to make them one of America’s biggest acts for the ensuing ten
years. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
On & On
Erykah Badu (1996)
“Being Busta Rhymes isn’t just about hyper energy and wilin’ out all
the time. That’s just the most marketable side.”
Busta Rhymes, 2003
Wonderful rap songs come along with reassuring regularity; weird and
wonderful rap songs are more rare. In the early Nineties, only Cypress Hill and
the Wu-Tang Clan made genuinely surprising contributions to the mainstream.
However, another maverick was making waves.
Busta Rhymes began with Leaders of the New School, protégés of Public
Enemy (whose Chuck D gave Trevor Smith his stage name). Ragga-tinged
roaring, a six-foot frame, and kinetic charisma made Busta a natural scene
stealer. He cemented his reputation on two remixes: A Tribe Called Quest’s
“Scenario” (1992) and Craig Mack’s “Flava in Ya Ear” (1994). However, these
remarkable cameos barely prepared listeners for his nutty solo debut. Its title was
a quote from a rap in The Sugarhill Gang’s 1980 single “8th Wonder.” The off-
kilter music was based on a piece from the soundtrack to the movie Woman Is
Sweeter (1973), by Hair co-writer Galt MacDermot.
An arresting video showcased director Hype Williams’s trademark “fish-
eye” visuals. It promptly enjoyed heavy MTV rotation without, unusually,
featuring on their rap show first. (A second video, for the “World Wide Remix,”
put Busta in a padded cell with the remix’s guest—the Wu-Tang’s unhinged Ol’
Dirty Bastard.) Busta became the Yosemite Sam of hip-hop: a seemingly furious
but curiously lovable cartoon character.
“The lyrics is the first one that has to be in order,” he told The Source. “Then
you take the concept, attitude, then ya gotta get the music that’s gonna fit the shit
you writing about. . . . When I came onstage it was a whole ’nother level of
intensity and energy, and ranting and raving, because everything else was in
order.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
No Diggity
Blackstreet featuring Dr. Dre (1996)
Singer and producer Teddy Riley was the go-to R&B hitmaker for much of the
late 1980s and early 1990s. He created New Jack Swing, topped the charts with
the ultra-smooth trio Guy, and co-produced Michael Jackson’s Dangerous. But
as gangsta rap replaced New Jack as the sound of urban America, his magic
touch faded. To get back on top, Riley had to reinvent himself—and R&B.
That reinvention came in 1996, when Riley heard the gospel moan and
acoustic riff that opens Bill Withers’s 1971 track, “Grandma’s Hands”: “I said,
‘That’s a groove people are gonna go crazy over.’” Riley sped up the sample,
slapped on a stomping piano riff, and scribbled lyrics about a “playette”—a
snake-hipped temptress interested only in the spending power of her suitors.
Initially, the other members of Blackstreet dismissed the track as corny.
However, Riley pushed ahead, hiring rapper and producer Dr. Dre to spit an
opening verse, and Queen Pen to rhyme from the femme fatale’s perspective.
The mix of gangsta rap, classic soul, and a mesmerizing gospel groove won
over hip-hop fans and R&B lovers, and—in November 1996—topped
Billboard’s Hot 100, ending the three-and-a-half-month reign of Los Del Rio’s
“Macarena.” It stayed at No. 1 for four weeks, going platinum—and attracting
the approval of Michael Jackson, who recalled Riley to work on 2001’s
Invincible. TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Jake Black, Rob Spragg, Piers Marsh, Simon Edwards, Chester Burnett
Producer | M. Vaughan, The Ministers at Work
Label | Elemental
Album | Exile on Coldharbour Lane (1997)
For London group Alabama 3’s best-known song, Rob Spragg explained, “We
started with a Howlin’ Wolf loop, but a lot of blues lyrics are quite misogynist.
So I turned it round to be about a woman who’s had enough and gets a gun.” The
lyric is based on the story of a British woman who shot her abusive husband.
Samples from Mississippi Fred McDowell’s “Standing at the Burial Ground”
and Muddy Waters’s “Mannish Boy” complete the song.
David Chase, creator of HBO drama The Sopranos, heard it on U.S. radio
and promptly abandoned plans to open each episode with a different track. “It’s
totally ironic,” co-founder Jake Black remarked to The Times, “that we, who
disapprove of anything villains do, should be picked for the theme song of a
show that shows the human side of villains.” “We’ve met some nice men in
Armani suits with fat hands and fat rings and eaten some nice Italian food,”
Spragg told Q. “But we’re very happy to be associated with a program of that
caliber. While in no way endorsing the use of guns in any fetishistic manner,
obviously.”
Weekly exposure, however, didn’t bring the band fame and fortune. “Geffen
dropped us,” Spragg told the Observer, “then, a month later, The Sopranos
picked up ‘Woke Up.’ Then, two years later, Sony signed us up over there, but
they didn’t know what the fuck to do with us. A Welshman and a Scotsman
singing country techno—they couldn’t figure it out. So they dropped us.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“We wanted machines to sound like they were sweaty and deranged
and wild.”
Tom Rowlands, 2008
Were one to accuse The Chemical Brothers of basing their musical career on
The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows,” they would most probably agree.
However, their magpie methods produced some of the greatest sonic thrillers to
hit the mainstream since Public Enemy. “We don’t see the whole of music as
one long, linear progression through time,” Ed Simons told Mojo, “but pockets
of innovation and greatness that we can go back and access.”
This approach paid off and plagued them, in equal measure, with “Block
Rockin’ Beats.” The track’s sole credited sample is the title phrase, lifted from
gangsta rap godfather Schooly D’s “Gucci Again.” However, fans—all twelve of
them—of British band 23 Skidoo gleefully pointed out its similarity to their
buried treasure of 1983, “Coup” (not to mention The Crusaders’ track, “The
Well’s Gone Dry,” released in 1974). “It’s not actually a straight sample; they
replayed it,” said the band’s Alex Turnbull. “But, yes, it’s been quite good for
us.” (23 Skidoo were belatedly adopted by the Chemicals’ parent label, Virgin.)
These unseemly accusations could not detract from the explosive appeal of
“Block Rockin’ Beats” itself. “We had a residency at a club, and we wanted stuff
to play . . .” Simons told Artist Direct. “‘Block Rockin’ Beats’ was something
that was played at like four in the morning, but then it became something that
can be played on [influential U.S. radio station] KROQ.” British radio listeners
also warmed to the song. Following a trail blazed by “Setting Sun” in 1996, their
collaboration with Noel Gallagher of Oasis, “Block Rockin’ Beats” became the
Chemicals’ second single to enter the U.K. chart at No. 1. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Breakdown
Mariah Carey (1997)
“This is the direction I’ve always wanted to head. But I don’t want
people to think I’ve gone completely bonkers.”
Mariah Carey, 1997
Chan Chan
Buena Vista Social Club feat. Compay Segundo (1997)
In 1996, guitar legend Ry Cooder visited Cuba and gathered a group of veteran
musicians to recapture the sounds of Havana’s pre-revolutionary club scene. He
ended up with the album Buena Vista Social Club. In the process, however, he
broke the United States’s Trading with the Enemy Act and was fined $25,000
(reduced from half a million by the outgoing President Clinton). However,
Cooder told Uncut, “If you really wanna get good and you really wanna be
involved in great music, you must be with masters.”
Of the musicians, Compay Segundo was the elder statesman. “When
Compay wasn’t there,” Cooder observed, “it wasn’t the same.” Nearing ninety
when the sessions took place, he had been influenced by nineteenth-century
Cuban troubadours, such as Sindo Garay, whom he remembered singing at his
house when he was a child. Also known as Francisco Repilado, Compay was
given his stage name—which translates as “second compadre”—after he started
out singing second vocals in musical partnerships.
“Chan Chan” is a Spanish-tinged, minor-key ballad that displayed Segundo’s
absolute mastery of the Cuban song. He was also an innovator: frustrated by the
limitations of the Cuban guitar, the tres, he added more strings to make his own
instrument, the armónico. In 1997 the song became a calling card for the Buena
Vista Social Club. DC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Elliott Smith Producer | Rob Schnapf, Tom Rothrock Label | Kill
Rock Stars Album | Either/Or (1997)
It was an odd moment in Oscar history. Celine Dion’s Titanic theme “My Heart
Will Go On” was up against Good Will Hunting’s “Miss Misery” by the almost
unknown singer-songwriter Elliott Smith. To the surprise of no one—least of all
Smith himself and presenter Madonna, who sneered “What a shocker” on
opening the envelope—the Titanic theme triumphed. However, the nomination
led listeners to Smith’s Either/Or, where they found the original version of
another of his five songs from the movie. The lilting, barely there “Between the
Bars” lasts less than two and a half minutes, yet makes an enduring impression.
The title evokes jail cells or musical notation, yet the song is a wry, Tom Waits–
style ode to alcohol-sodden romance.
Smith created an orchestral version of “Between the Bars” with soundtrack
maestro Danny Elfman. “I was able to work with Elliott . . .” Elfman told
Premiere. “I could make a piece of score end to the same key, and flow into the
introduction of Elliott’s songs, so you really couldn’t tell the difference.” “I
didn’t have any idea [the songs] would be as prominent as they were,” Smith
told writer Barney Hoskyns. “If I hadn’t written them, I would have thought
they’d been written for the movie.” But “Between the Bars” has outlived its
Hollywood association. Numerous admirers have covered it, and in 2006
Madonna named it as the song of the past twenty years that she wished she had
written. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
The Backstreet Boys were already huge in several countries by the time they got
around to recording their sophomore effort, Backstreet’s Back. A notable
exception was the Boys’ native United States, where their self-titled debut hadn’t
been released.
The group had a gem of a track in “Everybody (Backstreet’s Back)”—a
thumping dance anthem with strong individual vocal performances and an
instantly memorable chorus—yet record executives thought it might be
confusing for U.S. audiences. The reasoning was understandable—how could
Backstreet be back when this was its introduction to the United States?—yet
misguided, in that semantics should never get in the way of a good beat.
However, reaction to the tune was so overwhelmingly positive that the U.S.
debut was reissued with “Everybody” included.
All the effort would turn out to be worth it: fans around the globe embraced
the slamming song (much as they would with another Max Martin composition:
Britney Spears’s “Baby One More Time”). It was that rarest of things: a boy
band cut that dudes could admit to liking, yet sweet enough to woo young ladies,
who would quickly pin pictures of these boys to their walls. “Everybody
(Backstreet’s Back)” went platinum, while the U.S. album on which it appeared
sold a staggering fourteen million copies in the band’s homeland alone. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
4,3,2,1
LL Cool J feat. Method Man, Redman, Canibus & DMX
(1997)
LL Cool J has spent two decades defying attempts to write him off. In the late
Eighties, the wimpy “I Need Love” and his support of Nancy Reagan’s “Just Say
No” campaign torpedoed his credibility. His response was the storming Mama
Said Knock You Out.
Having commercially outlasted all his rivals bar the Beastie Boys, LL could
afford to take it easy. Yet amid smooth-talking, sample-heavy hits were flashes
of his original hardness. Mr. Smith had yielded a stunning remix of “I Shot Ya”
that matched LL with young bucks like Mobb Deep and Foxy Brown. Upping
the stakes, Phenomenon featured a stone-cold classic that teamed the master with
four of the Nineties’ hottest MCs. Method Man, Redman, DMX, and newcomer
Canibus took a verse each. However, the latter’s appeared to challenge LL—
who used his closing verse to castigate the “little shorty with the big mouth.”
Canibus responded with the vitriolic “Second Round K.O.,” the first in a series
of “diss” records from both sides. Wyclef Jean, Canibus’s mentor, was dragged
into the battle, and the upstart’s debut album featured a photograph of himself
with an adaptation of LL’s signature microphone tattoo (embellished with
“4321”).
Amid this ludicrous battle, the original song was virtually ignored. Yet its
jerky, reggae-tinged music (keyboard, bass line, and drums by EPMD’s Erick
Sermon), and extraordinary lineup mark it as one of the greatest posse cuts in
hip-hop history. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Şimarik
Tarkan (1997)
Pop was dying in 1996. Grunge and Britpop had hammered all the joy out of
music. A key demographic—kids—spent their allowances on video games
instead. Enter the Spice Girls: saviors of the form (and the industry, not that they
got credit for that). Co-writer and producer Richard Stannard told
dontstopthepop.com about his first encounter with the group: “I had just had a
meeting with Jason Donovan. As I left the room, Mel B came running down the
corridor, told me I had a nice arse and jumped on my back. . . . I spent the rest of
the day in a daze telling Matt Rowe about this insane but brilliant band.”
The Spice Girls had brought the universe to heel with smashes such as
“Wannabe.” They began their second campaign with this rumbling rumba
blockbuster. “The girls had been so successful all over the world,” Stannard
recalled, “I wanted to create something with a tribal feel. It started with the
drums and went from there. . . . Not only was the track written and recorded on
the same day, it was also the only track where I recorded all five girls singing at
the same time, with five mics. It somehow added to the hugeness of the sound
and I think you can hear the girls playing off each other.” The Spices were good
for another year. By the time the dust had settled, Madonna was back, Britney
was on the way, and pop lived to fight another day. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Given to Fly
Pearl Jam (1997)
“I was going through this crazy Led Zeppelin phase, so maybe some
of that came out.”
Mike McCready, 1998
Being glum has proved profitable for many musicians. In 1997, however, Pearl
Jam turned their frowns upside down; the previous year’s miserable No Code
having left front man Eddie Vedder burned out. “I remember him saying it
would be great if other people could come in with ideas,” recalled bassist Jeff
Ament. “So we all went home and wrote a bunch of songs.”
Guitarist Mike McCready conceived the one that saved them—although not
before everyone pointed out its resemblance to Led Zeppelin’s “Going to
California.” “It’s just one of those amazing coincidences,” quipped Zeppelin
singer Robert Plant. “Do you think that somebody sang it to them in the cradle . .
. ?” “It’s probably some sort of rip-off of it, I’m sure,” McCready conceded to
Massive! “Whether it’s conscious or unconscious—but that was definitely one of
the songs I was listening to, for sure. Zeppelin was definitely an influence on
that.”
Vedder used it as a vehicle for a lyric whose principal character has been
variously interpreted as Jesus Christ or Greek mythology’s doomed Icarus. “It’s
a fable, that’s all,” the singer told the Philadelphia Inquirer. “The music almost
gives you this feeling of flight—and I really love singing the part at the end,
which is about rising above anybody’s comments about what you do and still
giving your love away. You know—not becoming bitter and reclusive, not
condemning the whole world because of the actions of a few.”
The stirring song signaled a rebirth. Pearl Jam abandoned the megastardom
of their grunge heyday, but issued ever brighter and more enjoyable albums,
culminating in their positively chirpy Backspacer, released in 2009. BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Paranoid Android
Radiohead (1997)
Writer | Radiohead
Producer | Nigel Godrich, Radiohead
Label | Parlophone
Album | OK Computer (1997)
Never Ever
All Saints (1997)
Song 2
Blur (1997)
“Song 2”—the track’s working title—is famous for its rallying cry, “Woo hoo.”
Inspired by the Pixies’ quiet–loud–quiet dynamics (co-opted by Nirvana), the
song is a “blink and you’ll miss it” adrenaline rush. Depending on who you
choose to believe, the band came up with the song in somewhere between ten
and thirty minutes. “Damon [Albarn, singer] went ‘Woo hoo’ because he had
nothing else prepared,” claimed producer Stephen Street, “but it’s something
everyone understands.” Albarn was more dismissive: “It’s just headbanging.”
“Song 2” and its parent album are ripostes to Britpop, for which Blur had
been banner carriers. Newfound U.S. influences particularly energized guitarist
Graham Coxon. Previously, he had—as he admitted to Pulse!—“made my guitar
the background and not very expressive at all in the overall song. This is just the
opposite, really.” Appropriately a U.K. No. 2 hit, the song made Blur’s first
significant impact in the United States. “Our choice of singles has been
spectacularly inept for the American market, really,” confessed Albarn. “With
‘Song 2,’ we’ve released something that is at least tangible. . . . It feels right in
America.”
Dedicated to deceased Music Week journalist Leo Finlay, an early champion
of the band, the track (and its video) harked back to “Popscene,” released in
1992. Its success was a vindication after that song’s commercial failure.
However, although it became popular as a song and a sports theme, not everyone
grasped Blur’s peculiar irony. “The American army wanted to use it as the theme
for video packages when they unveiled the brand new Stealth bomber,”
marveled Coxon. “We couldn’t agree to it, of course.” JL
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Broken Heart
Spiritualized (1997)
Keyboardist Kate Radley left Jason Pierce—and, later, his band Spiritualized—
and married The Verve’s front man, Richard Ashcroft. Pierce’s next album, the
critically acclaimed Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space included
“Broken Heart,” a track described by Mojo as “almost bent double with sorrow.”
Never letting facts get in the way of a good story, journalists drew the inevitable
conclusion: break-up was followed by broken heart.
However, Pierce has remained steadfast in his denials—the song was written
more than two years before the split with Radley. “The last album was given a
weight, that it was about my lost love,” he told Uncut. “I denied that, but that
story was better than the reality so that’s what they ran with. . . . It’s a bit like
people want to read in between the lines before they’ve read the lines.”
Whatever the details of its development, “Broken Heart” found the composer at
his most vulnerable. If the inspiration was not the break-up with Radley, then
someone got to him beforehand to do damage in deep places. The sense of loss
—and of losing yourself in your recreation of choice—was overwhelming, and
so intimate that it was easy to feel the song (which reappeared on The Abbey
Road EP, released in 1998) was almost too personal to be eavesdropping on.
Pierce prepared himself by listening to heartbreak classics of previous
generations, from the likes of Patsy Cline and Jimmy Scott, and it shows. “If you
write a song like that,” he told Mojo, “you have to make it feel like what it’s like
to have a broken heart. That’s what making albums is all about. Otherwise it’s
just field recordings.” However, such soul-baring honesty clearly comes from a
very painful place. CB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Into My Arms
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds (1997)
“The actualizing of God through the medium of the love song remains
my prime motivation as an artist.”
Nick Cave, 1999
Nick Cave’s career is a tale of two texts. In his twenties and thirties, he was
preoccupied with the “mean-spirited, jealous, cruel God” of the Old Testament, a
deity who runs amok in the Bad Seeds’ early work. However, as Cave
approached forty, his righteous anger eased, and the New Testament called to
him. “It became quite difficult to despise things all the time,” he told the L.A.
Weekly. “Within the New Testament there is a message of forgiveness, and I
found that that began to inform the way I lived.”
This benevolent spirituality (Cave refuses to regard himself as a Christian)
emerged on “Into My Arms.” The song first appeared in 1995, when Cave
performed a live soundtrack to the 1928 silent movie La passion de Jeanne
d’Arc in London. The song then began featuring in the set lists of The Bad Seeds
more than a year before its eventual release.
As Cave begins to play a gentle, mournful piano melody, with
accompaniment from bassist Martyn P. Casey, he admits that he can’t believe in
the angels and “an interventionist God” prescribed by his loved one. However,
despite that lack of faith, he hungers for divine protection, and hopes that love
alone will shield and sustain them. Cave recognizes that love isn’t a gift from
God, but that God emerges out of love.
This vision of love as the ultimate higher power has made “Into My Arms” a
hymn for both the secular and religious. Newlyweds frequently pick the track for
their first dance (in 2006, InStyle magazine featured it in their list of top wedding
reception songs) and, in 1997, Cave performed the song at the funeral of his
friend, INXS singer Michael Hutchence. TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“It’s pretty, but it’s raw—and that’s the way I like it.”
Lauryn Hill, 1999
“When we recorded the song,” recalled Alan “Braxe” Quême, “we had no idea
that it would become a hit.” As 1997 closed, Braxe—a dance producer signed to
Thomas Bangalter of Daft Punk’s Roulé imprint—had just released his first
single and been invited to play a slot at the Rex Club, Paris. He encouraged
Bangalter and singer Benjamin “Diamond” Cohen to guest with him and, at their
rehearsal, the short-lived Stardust was born.
Sifting through record boxes, the trio alighted on Chaka Khan’s 1981 track
“Fate,” and looped its bass line and funky guitar lick. With Diamond’s vocal
—“inspired by Michael Jackson”—over the top, the embryonic “Music Sounds
Better with You” went down well at the Rex and prompted the trio to knock it
into shape at Bangalter’s studio. Most of the vocals were excised, leaving lean
couplets that were as memorably perfect as the musical hooks.
Released during a hiatus between Daft Punk albums, the streamlined track
demonstrated a commercial edge previously missing from that act’s work. It
peaked at No. 2 in the U.K., topped Billboard’s club chart, and was promptly
mashed, to thrilling effect, with Madonna’s “Holiday” for a promo release. But
Stardust opted not to continue and went their separate ways—Braxe to endless
collaborations, Diamond to remixes and his own label. The song was later
incorporated into live sets by both Madonna and Daft Punk themselves. MH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Erase/Rewind
The Cardigans (1998)
Teardrop
Massive Attack (1998)
Writer | Robert Del Naja, Grant Marshall, Andrew Vowles, Elizabeth Fraser
Producer | Massive Attack, Neil Davidge
Label | Wild Bunch
Album | Mezzanine (1998)
Iris
Goo Goo Dolls (1998)
“If you give a monkey a guitar, a paper, and a pen,” opined Goo Goo Dolls main
man John Rzeznik, “he’ll eventually write a hit song.” For their part, the Goo
Goo Dolls toiled for a decade—enduring critical barbs about their debt to Paul
Westerberg’s band The Replacements—before at last striking gold with the
gorgeous “Name,” from the band’s fifth album, A Boy Named Goo (1995).
Subsequently struck with writer’s block, Rzeznik’s problems eased when he
was invited to contribute to the soundtrack of the movie City of Angels. “I was
kind of trying to write it from the perspective of [lead actor] Nicolas Cage,”
Rzeznik told MTV, “where he’s about to give up his immortality—and he’s sort
of pondering that thought because he’s so in love and he wants to feel something
real for once.”
The “really pretty name” of country singer Iris DeMent inspired the title. “I
was trying to be pretentious and arty by calling it that,” said Rzeznik. “I figured
if [Smashing Pumpkins’] Billy Corgan can get away with it, so can I. So I
figured, what the hell, I’ll tap into the pretentious market.”
Originally planning to record it alone, Rzeznik instead “did a demo with
drum machines for the band. They pounded out a different version.” The result
—topped by the composer’s coruscating vocal—was a richly heartrending ballad
that became one of the era’s biggest songs; it was still being covered, imitated,
and reissued more than a decade later. Its inclusion on both the City of Angels
soundtrack and the Goo Goo Dolls’ own 1998 album Dizzy Up the Girl boosted
both records to multiplatinum sales. “‘Iris’ was like a blessing . . .” Rzeznik
reflected. “It just came out of nowhere.” BM
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Bok Espok
Kepa Junkera (1998)
Many music aficionados are unaware that Spain’s Basque region—often in the
news due to actions of ETA, a Basque separatist organization—is home to a
strong music scene. Anything sung in the Basque language is considered
“Basque music,” which can range from Basque singer-songwriters to Basque
heavy metal. Of particular note is the traditional yet very contemporary folk
scene.
Kepa Junkera is among today’s finest young Basque musicians. He plays the
trikitixa (a diatonic accordion) and leads a band that includes txalaparta
(horizontal planks bashed with vertical sticks like a giant zylophone), pandero
(tambourine), and alboka (the duophonic double reed pipe). The trikitixa has
been popular since the late nineteenth century, but trikitixa playing changed little
until Junkera began to revolutionize its sound and repertoire in the 1980s.
On Bilbao 00:00h Junkera was joined by traditional musicians from around
the world, showing how the trikitixa could fit alongside African, Irish, and other
acoustic music traditions. For “Bok Espok,” Junkera enlisted the help of
Swedish folkies Hedningarna for a typically inventive jam session that combines
high-energy tempos with rich melodic passages. The song is ample proof that
Junkera’s visionary approach to Basque music makes for great party tunes as
well as more contemplative listening. GC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Save Me
Aimee Mann (1999)
Few are the songwriters whose work has soundtracked a whole film. Onetime
’Til Tuesday singer Aimee Mann didn’t quite shoulder that responsibility for
Paul Thomas Anderson’s Magnolia—there were also contributions from
Supertramp, Gabrielle, and The Devlins. But Mann’s music inspired Anderson’s
script, and it is for her work that the soundtrack is remembered. (Additionally, in
the movie, the cast sing Mann’s “Wake Up,” cocaine is snorted off her I’m With
Stupid CD, and a character references her song “Deathly.”) To quote the song,
the imagery from filmmaker and musician proved “a perfect fit.”
The most famous phrase from “Save Me”—“the freaks / Who suspect they
could never love anyone”—was inspired by a conversation between Mann and a
friend. “He just had this fear about himself that he was unable to sustain love. . .
. I felt that was very sad and I think I understand it.”
Half a million soundtrack sales for Magnolia meant that Mann was able to
break free from the depressingly familiar cycle dictating that, the better she
became, the further she was from popular acclaim. She failed to win an
Academy Award (it went to “You’ll Be in My Heart” from the Disney movie
Tarzan), but, ever the amused outsider, Mann has introduced live versions of
“Save Me” as the track that “lost an Oscar to Phil Collins and his cartoon
monkey love song.” CB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
As its drily descriptive title suggests, all of the songs collected on The Magnetic
Fields’ magnum opus, the triple-volume 69 Love Songs, share a single theme:
love. Across the 173 minutes, composer, bandleader, and singer Stephin Merritt
essays all kinds of love via all kinds of song. This impressively ambitious project
marked Merritt out as a superior pop stylist, ably switching from genre to genre
without breaking a creative sweat. The sixty-nine songs are only occasionally
pastiche: more often, Merritt’s genre exercises pack subtle emotional punches
and are deftly moving.
“No One Will Ever Love You” is just such a song. By Merritt’s own
admission, it was conceived as an attempt to capture, in a single song, all the
twisted heartache of Tusk, Fleetwood Mac’s troubled but brilliant double album
of 1979. He would later jokingly introduce singer Shirley Simms in concerts as
“Shirley Nicks,” but her vocal—restrained, pristinely wracked—and the song’s
aching, dulcet melancholy actually recall Christine McVie in the Mac’s Rumours
era.
With Merritt’s words, Simms sings of broken dreams and emotionally distant
lovers. Indifference, the song suggests, rather than hate, is the antithesis of love.
With a dignity that only makes its message more haunting, the opening couplet
—“If you don’t mind / Why don’t you mind?”—captures the desolation of a love
grown cold. SC
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Surfacing
Slipknot (1999)
Scar Tissue
Red Hot Chili Peppers (1999)
Writer | Anthony Kiedis, Chad Smith, Flea, John Frusciante Producer | Rick
Rubin Label | Warner Bros.
Album | Californication (1999)
The success of BloodSugarSexMagik in 1991 led the Red Hot Chili Peppers’
youthful guitarist John Frusciante to quit mid-tour in 1992, unable to handle the
pressure. So it is ironic that his return to the band in 1998—following one
album, 1995’s One Hot Minute, featuring Jane’s Addiction guitarist Dave
Navarro—led to the Peppers’ most successful album to date.
Mimicking the introspection of their ballad “Under the Bridge,” and
reteaming with Stephane Sednaoui, who had directed the “Give It Away” video,
was a winning combination for “Scar Tissue,” Californication’s first single.
What the song lacks in customary Chilis-style funk, it makes up for in laidback
beauty. Of the song’s lyrics, singer Anthony Kiedis recalled: “Rick Rubin and I
had been talking about sarcasm a lot . . . I guess I was also thinking of Dave
Navarro, who was the King of Sarcasm, faster and sharper than the average
bear.” He later wrote: “All those ideas were in the air when John started playing
this guitar riff, and I immediately knew what the song was about. It was a
playful, happy-to-be-alive, phoenix-rising-from-the-ashes vibe. . . . I’ll never
forget looking up at the sky above that garage [at bassist Flea’s house] out
toward Griffith Park with the birds flying overhead, and getting a dose of
Jonathan Livingston Seagull. I really did have the point of view of those birds,
feeling like an eternal outsider.” SO
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
For hip-hop fans bored with the bling and bravado of the Nineties rap scene,
Mos Def’s debut album was a delight. Here, a socially conscious rapper was
exploring complicated issues, from the appropriation of black music by white
performers on “Rock N Roll” to the planet’s H2O woes on “New World Water.”
On “Ms. Fat Booty” he gave old-school, sexist party jams an ultramodern twist.
“Ms. Fat Booty” starts off like thousands of hip-hop tracks, with the rapper
describing a beautiful woman he met in a club (“Ass so phat that you could see it
from the front”). Backed by soulful beats and a sample of Aretha Franklin’s
1965 single “One Step Ahead,” he boasts to friends how, after weeks of dating,
he became her “champion lover.”
It is here that the traditional hip-hop tale ends, and the player becomes the
played. Def falls in love with Ms. Fat Booty and starts to suffer “flu-like
symptoms when shorty not around.” These feelings aren’t mutual. She skips
dates, and their relations end after nine months, the would-be Mrs. Def claiming
she can’t handle the commitment.
Critics predicted mainstream success could not be far away, but Mos Def had
other ideas. He focused on acting, in movies such as Monster’s Ball and The
Italian Job. Having set such high standards with Black on Both Sides and his
1998 collaboration with Talib Kweli as Black Star, it would be another five
years before he released an album. TB
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Dedicated to “all the women out there that have been lied to by their men” (thus
acquiring an instant fan base of millions), this rage-filled vocal eruption from
Kelis Rogers made every estrogen-fueled revenge song that came before it—
including Alanis Morissette’s hit “You Oughta Know”—sound vaguely
apologetic. The performance, with its memorable chorus of “I hate you so much
right now,” followed by a visceral scream, was spurred by personal experience.
“I’m a mess when I’ve broken up, but after that I’m mad,” Kelis explained to
Scotland’s Daily Record. “And that madness is so intense.”
Kelis’s elastic vocals, shifting artfully between bluesy ballad and riot grrrl
roar, are complemented by whirring space-age hip-hop, courtesy of production
super-duo Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo (aka The Neptunes, with whom
Kelis worked as guest vocalist on Ol’ Dirty Bastard’s “Got Your Money,” also
from 1999). “They had this futuristic sound that I related to,” she told Billboard.
“We all feel we’re from a different planet.”
This otherworldliness extended to her style, a pink-and-orange afro lending
her the look of a psychedelic soul sistah in the accompanying Hype Williams–
directed video. Fully realizing her revenge fantasy, she trashes her cheating
lover’s apartment before leading a march of angry women, yelling the song’s
indelible hook.
“The aaaaaaah!! just lets it all go,” Kelis told USA Today. “It’s the finishing
touch on the whole phrase. I think people connect with the song because it’s a
real situation. You hear a million and one songs that focus on the love and
beauty and pain and sadness. But nobody sings about the anger that comes after
the crying and loneliness.” EP
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
Writer | Moby
Producer | Moby
Label | V2
Album | Play (1999)
“What’s wrong with me? I’ve got this strange and bizarre love for old
soul ballads.”
Moby, 2001
Moby’s fifth studio album, Play was a showcase for his ingenious sampling.
Turning his back on standard techno sources, he instead sampled old gospel and
folk tunes. The deeply soulful “Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” was the
most impressive of the lot: a powerful ballad that was both classic and
contemporary in the way it combined heart-wrenching vocals—courtesy of The
Shining Light Gospel Choir—and Moby’s beats to create a unique chill-out
track.
“The song I took the woman’s vocal from actually goes ‘glad,’ not ‘bad’,”
Moby told The New York Times. “It’s an upbeat, happy song. But me being me, I
guess, I put these minor chords under it and manipulated the vocal, and it
became something else.” Elton John recorded his own version in 2000, retaining
Moby’s backing. “It’s particularly interesting for me,” Moby enthused to
Interview, “because the first song I ever learned to play on the guitar was
‘Crocodile Rock,’ when I was nine years old.”
The track was written years earlier—“a really bad techno song,” Moby
confessed to Rolling Stone. “Just mediocre, generic techno.” The decision to let
it simmer, allowing the mournful blues to bubble to the top, paid off
handsomely.
“Why Does My Heart Feel So Bad?” was one of nine singles from Play. But
before the album sold multimillions, it became a cultural touchstone after
becoming the first record ever to have each of its songs licensed for use in
movies, television, and commercials. Notably, “Why Does My Heart Feel So
Bad?” was featured in the trailer for the 2001 movie Black Hawk Down. Quizzed
as to why he licensed his songs so freely, Moby replied that it had seemed the
only way to get them heard. JiH
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
I Try
Macy Gray (1999)
“Everybody seems to love that song. It’s definitely what got these
deals started.”
Macy Gray, 1999
U Don’t Know Me
Armand Van Helden (1999)
Influenced by: The Captain • Johnny “D” & Nicky P. aka Johnick
(1996)
Influence on: Runnin’ • Doman & Gooding featuring Dru & Lincoln
(2009)
Other key tracks: Aliene (1999) • Rock da Spot (1999) • Flowerz
(1999) • My My My (2004) • NYC Beat (2007)
“The weird thing about dance music,” observed Armand Van Helden in 2008,
“and this is a strange one, is that you can basically make one hit and DJ for the
rest of your life.” If this is true, he broke the mold with a string of classic dance
songs and remixes. The best of these, “U Don’t Know Me,” would set up many
DJs for life.
The song sliced sounds from R&B singer Carrie Lucas’s 1979 song “Dance
with You” with beats from house producer Jaydee’s 1992 smash “Plastic
Dreams.” This canny cocktail was enough to attract both underground musos
and mainstream record-buyers in their droves.
“I first met up with Armand when he was running clubs in Boston . . .”
singer Duane Harden told Ministry. “He asked me to sing over one of his tracks.
I stayed there all night and just threw down some lyrics. I’m usually inspired by
whatever bullshit I’m going through at the time. . . . I wanted to change some
parts, but Armand told me to leave it as it was. Now I can see why.”
To the full-length version of the track, Van Helden added a spoken
introduction from Dial M for Monkey, an offshoot of kids’ cartoon Dexter’s
Laboratory. “Neither Armand or I had any idea that so many people would like
and understand the song,” Harden recalled.
Despite its idiosyncratic construction, the result was a celebratory triumph.
In the wake of his remix of Tori Amos’s “Professional Widow,” Van Helden
scored a second chart-topper in the United Kingdom and a worldwide hit.
“Duane, the singer of the song, has perfect delivery,” enthused Stone Roses
front man turned solo star Ian Brown. “All in all, a song everybody can relate to.
Best No. 1 of all time.” KBo
See all songs from the 1990s
1990s
“Omar and I would get ridiculed for playing Tom Waits and dub
music in the tour bus.”
Cedric Bixler-Zavala, 2004
Creative differences can often fuel bands’ best work—and so it was with
insurgent Texas punks At the Drive-In. With their breakthrough album
Relationship of Command, a rift developed between the free-form, experimental
instincts of singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala and guitarist Omar Rodriguez-Lopez,
and the tight riffs and more traditional punk rock immediacy favored by guitarist
Jim Ward.
Producer Ross Robinson harnessed this combustible energy and committed it
to tape. On “One Armed Scissor,” Bixler-Zavala delivered the tale of a space
station in terminal free fall “hurtling back to Earth” that was a metaphor for the
pressures the band had experienced on tour. Rodriguez-Lopez and Ward
ricocheted breathlessly between the chorus’s brilliantly blunt, high impact riff,
and more atmospheric, ethereal, rhythmically complex verses.
Despite Robinson’s involvement, At the Drive-In were no “nu-metal”
Neanderthals: rather, they updated the righteous dynamics of Fugazi for the
twenty-first century, while Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez’s wild Afros
won comparisons with the MC5.
A live performance of the song in 2000 for BBC TV’s Later . . . with Jools
Holland foreshadowed At the Drive-In’s demise. With their equipment
malfunctioning as the cameras rolled, Bixler-Zavala and Rodriguez-Lopez
hurled themselves about the stage, embracing the chaos and creating an
unforgettable TV moment, while Ward visibly fumed with frustration. A few
months later, it was over. The Afro-sporting duo explored their experimental
impulses with the polymorphous The Mars Volta. Ward, meanwhile, recorded
three albums of polished emo-punk as Sparta. SC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“‘Hate to Say I Told You So’ popular. Yes. Didn’t think people had
such good taste.”
Nicholaus Arson, 2004
Influenced by: All Day and All of the Night • The Kinks (1964)
Influence on: Cherry Cola • Eagles of Death Metal (2006)
Covered by: • Richard Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine
(2002)
There was nothing new about The Hives. But the Swedish quintet’s ballsy brio
more than made up for their originality deficit. Out front, Howlin’ Pelle
Almqvist was a junior Jagger, yelping over irresistible garage punk—influenced
by The Misfits, Elvis, Little Richard, The Saints, the Sex Pistols, and AC/DC.
(Almqvist and his brother Niklas formed the band in 1993.) The band members’
immaculate black-and-white suits and spats just added to the energizing effect.
Leading the charge was “Hate to Say I Told You So”—its title borrowed
from Sixties girl group The Shangri-Las—but even that took time to become an
overnight sensation. Both it and the equally magnificently manic “Main
Offender” had been ignored in major markets on their first fly-by, on the band’s
second album, Veni Vidi Vicious.
Only later—in 2001, when the track kicked off Your New Favourite Band, a
compilation of the many highlights from previous releases—did “Hate to Say I
Told You So” strike a scuzzy chord on both sides of the Atlantic. It even wound
up on the 2002 Spider-Man soundtrack album, and was parodied by “Weird Al”
Yankovic (on “Angry White Boy Polka”) in 2003.
Stage shows were a blur of activity, but there was craft with the chaos. When
asked how tracks such as “Hate to Say I Told You So” evolved, guitarist
Nicholaus Arson (aka the aforementioned Niklas Almqvist) summed it up as:
“Rehearse time songs pretty good better very good fucking excellent / amazing.”
It was all carried off with utter conviction and a knowing wink. “Sarcastic
fun” was the description preferred by Howlin’ Pelle, who behaved like a rock
star and so became one. CB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Frontier Psychiatrist
The Avalanches (2000)
“Our record is . . . probably the most amazing thing to ever come out
of Melbourne.”
Darren Seltmann, 2001
With a handful of low-key releases behind them, The Avalanches broke out of
Australia with the dizzying collage of Since I Left You—an eighteen-song,
breakneck party patchwork of more than nine hundred samples.
What could have been a nauseous mess turned out to be a seamless mélange
of obscure movie snippets, cheesy pop clips, and the first Madonna sample
cleared for release. “Frontier Psychiatrist” was the album in microcosm—busy,
daft, composed of countless unconnected parts, yet somehow entirely natural as
a whole.
Those parts were typically eclectic. In Since I Left You’s dense list of credits,
The Avalanches admitted to borrowing portions of Bert Kaempfert’s 1968 song
“(You Are) My Way of Life” (performed by The Enoch Light Singers).
While these orchestral fanfares fuel the track, the narrative drive comes from
its snatches of comedy dialogue—some from the 1969 Disney movie The
Computer Wore Tennis Shoes; others, written by John Robert Dobson, from
Canadian duo Johnny Wayne and Frank Shuster’s album Frontier Psychiatrist.
“Dexter is criminally insane!” must have been a glorious find for a band
boasting a member called Dexter Fabay.
The Avalanches attempted to take their concoctions on the road, leading to
haphazard gigs where Robbie Chater managed to break both legs—mercifully on
separate occasions. Chaos disguised the fact that “Frontier Psychiatrist” and its
cousins only thrived on record, where Chater and his chums could painstakingly
piece together their inspired sonic mish-mash. That a follow-up album has been
little more than a rumor for the best part of a decade tells its own story. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Stan
Eminem featuring Dido (2000)
“I got sent the tape, and I just thought it was brilliant,” gushed Dido upon the
release of the controversial Eminem song that sent her low-key career
stratospheric. She owed her gratitude to producer Mark “The 45 King” James,
who picked her two-year-old ballad—the appropriately titled “Thank You”—for
“Stan,” Eminem’s cautionary tale of an obsessed fan who kills himself after
writing to his idol and not hearing back. “It reminded me of a country song,” she
told Word, “’cos his lyrics tell a story from beginning to end.”
The British singer-songwriter played Stan’s doomed, pregnant wife in the
accompanying video and performed with Eminem in concert and on Saturday
Night Live. Her previously dormant 1999 album, No Angel, promptly ascended
to multiplatinum status.
Hip-hop’s golden boy Eminem was already basking in the international
success of his own 1999 debut, The Slim Shady LP, which won a Grammy
Award for Best Rap Album. His clever, venomous raps had earned him a
cartoonish reputation—but, for fans and critics alike, “Stan” raised the bar.
Showcasing masterful storytelling and technical brilliance rather than shock
value, it became the jewel in the crown of his Grammy-winning The Marshall
Mathers LP. “It kinda shows the real side of me,” he told Rolling Stone.
“Thank You” was revived again in 2006, on Snoop Dogg’s “Round Here.”
Then, in 2008, producer Swizz Beatz claimed he was working on a “totally
genius” sequel to “Stan.” Eminem was quick to shut that down: “There isn’t a
‘Stan Two’ and there won’t be,” he told Billboard. “Stan drove his car off a
bridge and I’m not writing a song as Stan’s ghost. That would just be really
corny.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Oh My Sweet Carolina
Ryan Adams feat. Emmylou Harris (2000)
The standout track on Ryan Adams’s solo debut was written in a moment of
genuine desperation. The singer had split from his long-term girlfriend;
Whiskeytown, the punk-country band he fronted for five years, had broken up;
and he could barely afford the rent on his New York City apartment. And so,
sitting in a Manhattan dive bar, Adams started to write this homesick song.
Like other great traveling numbers, it opens with the singer leaving his
Southern home in an attempt to “find me something / But I wasn’t sure just
what.” He skips from city to city, never filling the void in his soul. Only when he
loses everything does he realize that the key to his happiness may lie back with
friends and family in North Carolina. The track ends with the longing “Oh my
sweet disposition / May you one day carry me home.”
Silky, somber backing vocals by Emmylou Harris heighten the melancholy.
“Emmy was an icon to me . . .” he told writer Barney Hoskyns. “I had put a lotta
time into listening to her. . . . I’d almost studied those records.”
Producer Ethan Johns kept things simple on Heartbreaker. Minimal guitar, a
few piano chords, and gentle drums perfectly captured the yearning at the song’s
core. Adams likes to play up his punk credentials, but his finest five minutes
ended up winning over a more mature fan—Elton John, who has covered the
song in concert. TB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Rarely does a rock song with only eight words make the charts—much less one
that sounds like a shopping list for Seventies-era Aerosmith.
“Feel Good Hit of the Summer”—with its oft repeated “Nicotine, Valium,
Vicodin, marijuana, ecstasy, and alcohol . . . c-c-c-c-c-cocaine!”—was almost
banned from [Rated] R by U.S. record executives (only the absence of
references to anyone actually taking these substances changed their minds).
Indeed, the album’s age restriction-aping title had been inspired by it. “We knew
we’d get grief from the censors for that lyric,” singer/ guitarist Josh Homme told
the Guardian, “so we just thought that we’d beat them to it.”
[Rated] R was the successful follow-up to Queens of the Stone Age’s 1998
self-titled debut. It launched their brand of “Palm Desert” rock into the
mainstream, particularly in Europe where they enjoyed a heartier welcome than
at home in America. “Feel Good Hit” seemed to echo Homme and his partner-
in-crime Nick Oliveri’s roots in the stoner rock group Kyuss—but QotSA were
endeavoring to chisel their own niche. “It has taken me years,” Homme
remarked, “to really develop something that does sound different.”
With backing vocals from Judas Priest metal god Rob Halford, the track
announced itself with grinding bass reminiscent of dirty old Motörhead. Indeed,
QotSA were garnering a good time reputation reminiscent of Motörhead main
man Lemmy. “I’m an equal opportunity everything person,” Homme said of his
inspiration. “That whole list is the drug of my choice.” However, he remarked,
“People might perceive us as a bunch of drug-pumped loonies, but making
music is like poetry or art to us.” SO
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Ms. Jackson
OutKast (2000)
“My mom just laughs about ‘Ms. Jackson.’ She and Dré are really
pretty cool—they talk.”
Erykah Badu, 2001
Romeo
Basement Jaxx (2001)
“We found out Yoko was a fan of Basement Jaxx. She liked ‘Romeo’ .
. . that was quite exciting.”
Simon Ratcliffe, 2009
“Cuz you see, my dear, I have had enough / Of keeping quiet about all this stuff
You’re neurotic like a yo-yo You used to be my Romeo . . .” A lament by a
neglected lover who is finally standing up for herself evokes memories of disco
classics like Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” and the Barbra Streisand–Donna
Summer diva-fest “No More Tears (Enough Is Enough).” But Basement Jaxx put
a fresh spin on the theme, conjuring one of their most delightful hits in the
process.
The U.K. house duo’s “Romeo” is a luscious, bhangra-tinged party song.
The vocals of guest Kele Le Roc—attitude-laden one minute, sweetly plaintive
the next—match the song’s spiky lyrics, while Corryne Dwyer’s chanted
backing vocals add to its infectious joyfulness.
DJs Simon Ratcliffe and Felix Buxton started Basement Jaxx after the
success of their south London club night, Rooty, in the early Nineties. Their
second, highly successful album—released in 2001 and from which “Romeo”
was the first of four hits—was named after that club.
The song’s superb video paid homage to Bollywood, with mass dancing,
handsome men fighting over a beautiful heroine, a riot of colors, and, of course,
tears too. It suited the party vibe, as—like many Basement Jaxx songs
—“Romeo” has an unashamed pop element.
The strength of the song was proved when it reappeared on the B-side of
another Rooty single, “Where’s Your Head At.” A gorgeous, bossanova-style
version of “Romeo” let its true beauty out. This can be found on the bonus CD
with the hits set The Singles (released in 2005), which also boasts a 2 Many DJs
mash-up of “Romeo” with The Clash’s classic “The Magnificent Seven.” OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“It’s like, on the arcade game, I’ve gone up to the next level. I’m
clinging on, trying to stay sane.”
Kylie Minogue, 2002
Called simply the “la la la” song by Kylie Minogue herself, “Can’t Get You Out
of My Head” was the hypnotic anthem that turned the Australian pop princess
into a bona fide music icon. Selling over four million copies and topping the
charts in every European country bar Finland, it was, Minogue’s manager Terry
Blamey told Music Week, “one of those songs where just everything came
together—the video, the imagery, and the song.”
“The moment Kylie and I heard the demo, we knew how strong it was,”
Blamey recalled—a reaction not shared by British singers Jimmy Somerville and
Sophie Ellis-Bextor, both of whom turned it down. Penned by solo artist turned
songwriter Cathy Dennis and former Mud guitarist Rob Davis, the song’s
infectious hooks were the ideal match for Minogue’s sex-kitten delivery.
“You’ve got the Kraftwerk beat, you’ve got echoes of Motown,” noted
former EMI boss Tony Wadsworth. “It’s just a classic-sounding record that
probably could have been made ten years before or could be listened to in ten
years’ time and still sound fresh.”
The futuristic video was as captivating as the song, Minogue’s white
jumpsuit gaping precariously as she performed a beguiling, robotic dance. The
clip scooped an MTV award—and, in the United States, which had spent a
decade resisting Minogue’s charms, pushed the single into the Top Ten and its
parent album to platinum.
After winning three Ivor Novello awards in 2002 and cementing Kylie
Minogue’s transition from kitsch to cool, co-writer Cathy Dennis was inundated
with telephone calls. “It’s mainly, ‘Can you write me a hit like that one?’” she
told the Guardian. “The answer is usually ‘No.’” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Vuelvo al sur
Gotan Project (2001)
“Vuelvo al sur” was one side of the debut single by the innovative, Paris-based
Gotan Project, who propelled Argentinean tango into the twenty-first century.
Their debut album, La revancha del tango, shifted over a million copies,
drawing a new, youthful audience to the music.
The simple guitar arpeggio by Eduardo Makaroff emphasizes that “Vuelvo al
sur” is a milonga—a precursor to the tango. Another key element is Nini
Flores’s melancholic bandoneón—a giant concertina. The acoustic percussion
shows the influence of Argentinean folklorist Domingo Cura, but programmed
beats lend a contemporary feel. Halfway through, sultry Catalonian singer
Cristina Villalonga materializes.
The title translates as “I return to the South.” It is unclear whether lyricist
Fernando E. Solanas was talking about Argentina in general, or “Sur”—the
south side of Buenos Aires, and its spiritual and cultural epicenter. Or he might
also have been referring to co-writer Astor Piazzolla’s fractious relationship with
the country.
Either way, there’s a strong “bringing it all back home” theme to Gotan
Project’s work. As Makaroff observed before a 2005 concert in Buenos Aires:
“The lyrics of many of the famous tango songwriters would always talk about
going back to this city, and so we’re returning to the South and to the place
that’s in our hearts.” JLu
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Clandestino
Manu Chao (2001)
Paris born, Barcelona based, and a true citizen of the world, José Manuel
Thomas Arthur (Manu) Chao is a superstar across much of Europe and Latin
America. For many followers, this imp is an iconic figure, railing against the ills
of globalization and governmental abuse.
Chao’s rise to stardom began with the pioneering Mano Negra. Often
described as “the French Clash,” they blended punk energy with Latin flavors.
When an anarchic tour of Colombia finished them off in the mid-Nineties,
prolonged travel saw Chao in Brazil, Peru, Chile, North Africa, Senegal, and
Mali. Recordings made on a portable eight track—released as Clandestino—
proved that working outside the confines of a group had been liberating. The
songs demonstrated his maturing writing, as he blended reggae, rumba, and
African flavors into brilliant, Latin rock ’n’ roll.
Chao’s songs concern love, sun, marijuana, and—on his anthem—the
suffering of “clandestinos” (illegal immigrants). “I wrote it about the border
between Europe and those coming from poorer nations,” he told the Guardian in
2007. “It’s a decade since I wrote it, and things have gotten worse.”
Initially an underground hit, Clandestino went on to sell over five million
copies. Chao escaped celebrity by returning to travel. “I have what the Spanish
call ‘a worried ass,’” he explained. “I literally cannot stay in one place too long.”
GC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Iag bari
Fanfare Ciocărlia (2001)
Romanian Gypsy band Fanfare Ciocărlia seemingly arose from nowhere in 1996
to storm the world with their gonzo sound: Balkan brass. Brass bands have
existed in the Balkans since Ottoman times and the Gypsies have reshaped them
into outfits that play ferocious party music with Asian flavors.
Fanfare Ciocărlia create whiplash fast, rock hard Balkan funk. Surprisingly,
none were professional musicians. All farmers and local factory workers, they
played at weddings and parties but were unknown beyond the local region. Then
German sound engineer Henry Ernst arrived. He loved Romania’s Gypsy music
and was looking for something special. In Fanfare Ciocărlia he found it.
Ernst took the group to Germany, where they wrecked audiences. Playing up
to two hundred beats per minute on battered brass instruments, Fanfare Ciocărlia
created a wild, roaring sound. Their furious groove got dance floors heaving and
helped festivals lift off. Fanfare Ciocărlia became stars, and many of their songs
have been remixed by DJs trying to reinvent the raw Balkan groove.
“Iag bari” (which translates as “the big longing”), the title track of their third
album, recorded in Bucharest, showcases Dan Armeanca, a celebrated Gypsy
musician from Bucharest. He joined the band because he loved their forceful
sound. The band’s pumping groove makes this one of their most popular tunes.
GC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Writer | Radiohead
Producer | Nigel Godrich, Radiohead Label | Parlophone
Album | Amnesiac (2001)
This troubling track started off as a way for Radiohead front man Thom Yorke to
deal with voices in his head that were, he told Mojo, “driving me round the
bend.” But the singer soon found a different focus. In his crosshairs was
Britain’s then prime minister, Tony Blair. “Once I came up with that ‘You and
Whose Army’ phrase,” Yorke recalled, “I was able to stick other ideas on there
and Blair emerged as the song’s real subject matter. The song’s ultimately about
someone who is elected [by the people] . . . then blatantly betrays them.”
Yorke explained that both the song’s parent album, Amnesiac, and its
predecessor from 2000, Kid A, were influenced by a book he was reading on the
studio innovations of The Beatles and their producer George Martin. Yorke and
Jonny Greenwood duly envisaged something “kind of Ink Spots-esque” for the
“You and Whose Army” vocals.
With admirable throwback innovation, Yorke’s voice was fed through—of
all things—an eggbox positioned near his microphone. When his narcoleptic
vocal was further treated with a device called a Palm Speaker, it created a low-
key but unnervingly threatening projection of finger-pointing lines about “you
and your cronies.” It all seemed like less of an angry plea to the powers-that-be
to stop, and more of a resigned warning that their actions would have
consequences. But it was all an admirably long way from “Creep.” CB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Romando y tomando
Lupillo Rivera (2001)
The biggest contemporary star yet to arise from the Mexican-American populace
of the United States, Lupillo Rivera was born in La Barca, Mexico, and grew up
in Los Angeles. His father, Pedro, was a well-known corrido singer who
founded the label Cintas Acuario to promote himself and fellow corrido singers.
The label scored its greatest success with Chalino’s narcocorrido anthems—until
that singer’s murder. Pedro then encouraged his son Lupillo and daughter Jenni
to record narcocorridos. They mixed an urban LA flavor into their sound while
singing about dealing kilos, living fast, and dying young.
Lupillo has gone on to enjoy huge success across the American Southwest
and into Mexico. His fierce image plays up the image of a Mexican drug baron,
while his good looks and ability to sing a ranchera ballad wins over female fans.
On the cover of his best album, Despreciado, Lupillo stands dressed in black,
Stetson in hand, in front of an expensive late-model car. He is backed by a banda
brass band, who blow a weird Mexican funk descended from Austrian military
marching bands and village brass bands—music reinvented by campesinos
(Mexican peasants) as party music. Lupillo’s fame has made him a controversial
figure and in 2007 his SUV was peppered with machine gun fire as he left a
Guadalajara restaurant. Fortunately, he survived to sing about it. GC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“What I heard in The Strokes,” declared Rough Trade boss Geoff Travis, “was . .
. the songwriting skills of a first-rate writer and music that is a distillation of
primal rock ’n’ roll, mixed with the sophistication of today’s society.” The
band’s debut album duly laid waste to a scene dominated by cheesy pop and the
post-grunge fallout.
“New York City Cops” was a prime example of their Stooges influence
(though the only band that all five Strokes agreed on was The Velvet
Underground). But the song was deemed insensitive in the wake of 9/11 and
dropped from the U.S. release in favor of “When It Began.”
Producer Gordon Raphael recalled “the emotional decision” of taking it off,
“in solidarity to the cops and firemen. I will never forget that meeting—in a
shell-shocked New York no one had ever experienced—though musically the
album is not as holistically powerful as the U.K. version.” It remains on
international releases, with cheeky cover art depicting a pert bottom and gloved
hand, redolent of Spinal Tap’s Smell the Glove.
The song, reported Raphael, “was recorded live except for the vocals”—
immediacy that made it a live staple. An incendiary performance at New York’s
Radio City Music Hall in 2002 featured the White Stripes’ Jack White on guitar.
It culminated in the boys receiving hugs from Stripes drummer Meg White—a
sweet act of solidarity. SS
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Lego must be kicking themselves. The Danish company declined a request from
yet-to-be-famous musician Jack White to package mini sets of their toys with his
band’s single, “Fell in Love with a Girl.” Nonetheless, the video featured Lego
versions of Jack and his partner Meg thrashing their instruments. “When
someone brings a Lego sculpture of your head to dinner and says, ‘This is what
the video’s going to be,’” Jack observed, “you pretty much say, ‘That’s it, go
ahead.’” The result was brilliantly distinctive, earning three awards from MTV
and plaudits from TV show Family Guy.
But while the visuals were gimmicky, the band’s punky homage to matters
of the heart was the real deal. From its opening punches, this garage powerhouse
doesn’t stick around a moment longer than necessary. “We completely avoided
the blues on White Blood Cells on purpose,” Jack recalled. “The thinking was,
‘What can we do if we completely ignore what we love the most?’” The
mysterious Meg’s hyperactive drumming and Jack’s rasping guitar,
accompanied by his swaggering howls, were rambunctious and purposeful. The
band even got within touching distance of pop, with irresistible “ah ahs” in the
frenzied chorus.
With this lean hunk of rock, the duo proved that their charmingly simplistic
formula was a force to be reckoned with. KBo See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Get Ur Freak On
Missy Elliott (2001)
“When me and Tim get together, we go to Saturn,” Missy Elliott told Slate of
her innovative, long-time production partnership with Timothy “Timbaland”
Mosley. Their sound was never more otherworldly than on the groundbreaking
“Get Ur Freak On.” Elliott’s jolting, boastful rap over Timbaland’s aggressive
bhangra beat shook the hip-hop scene into a new era of experimentation.
“Tim was playing some new stuff one day,” Elliott told Blender. “He’d
picked up all kinds of music while traveling—and overseas they have the hot,
different flavor.” “That beat took me ten minutes,” Timbaland added. “And
Missy did her part just as fast.”
This space-age hybrid won Elliott a 2002 Grammy for Best Rap Solo
Performance. A remix with vocals from Nelly Furtado appeared on the Lara
Croft: Tomb Raider (2001) movie soundtrack and became a dance floor staple
that year.
The Lara Croft: Tomb Raider association is complemented by Elliott’s
video’s dark jungle setting and camouflage-clad, CGI-enhanced dance
sequences. There is no shortage of star turns from the hip-hop community—look
out for enthusiastic cameos from Nate Dogg, Eve, LL Cool J, Ludacris, Master
P, Busta Rhymes, Ja Rule, Timbaland, and Nicole Wray.
“I don’t really try to figure out the difference between what y’all call
bhangra or ragas or whatever,” Timbaland told the New York Times. But his
genre-defying exoticism triggered a landslide of reinterpretation, from Jay-Z’s
“Beware of the Boys” to Truth Hurts’ “Addictive.” “I didn’t want to make an
album that was just in a category of hip-hop or R&B or mainstream,” Elliott
declared. “I wanted to make an album for everybody.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
21 Seconds
So Solid Crew (2001)
Schism
Tool (2001)
Writer | Danny Carey, Justin Chancellor, Maynard James Keenan, Adam Jones
Producer | David Bottrill, Tool
Label | Volcano
Album | Lateralus (2001)
Rock Star
N*E*R*D (2001)
After the Neptunes gained major buzz for their funky, idiosyncratic sound—
producing hits for acts as diverse as Ol’ Dirty Bastard and Britney Spears—it
was no surprise that Pharrell Williams and Chad Hugo wanted to get out of the
kitchen and serve themselves a slice of the spotlight.
Teaming up with childhood pal Shay Haley, they formed N*E*R*D. “We
wanted to put an identity—actual perspectives—out, versus just coloring other
people’s perspectives,” Williams told the Dallas Observer. This high-minded
mission led them to scrap the 2001 version of In Search of . . . .
The re-recording, released in March 2002, featured live instruments, courtesy
of Minneapolis rockers Spymob. The standout single, “Rock Star,” was a potent
pastiche of puffed-up rap-rock, with Williams’s ferocious falsetto signaling a
genre-bending statement of intent. The aggressive arrangement appealed to beat
junkies who wouldn’t be caught dead listening to Limp Bizkit.
“‘Rock Star’ is about power,” Williams remarked to Rolling Stone. “In rap
music, there’s a lot of songs about fakes and wannabes, but there’s not a lot of
those songs in rock.”
“We’re all about bringing the rock and rap worlds together,” Shay Haley told
the Minneapolis Star Tribune. “And the jazz and the R&B worlds, and the soul
and the country worlds. Whatever it is, you know, N*E*R*D plays it.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Fallin’
Alicia Keys (2001)
Alicia Keys’s early demos provoked a bidding war between record labels. The
victors, Columbia, saw her as the latest in a lineage of pretty R&B singers,
happy to sing others’ songs while pouting seductively in music videos. But this
graduate of New York’s School for the Performing Arts—a brilliant pianist with
a voice to match—wanted to sing her own songs.
Keys wrote “Fallin’” during her Columbia doldrums, and it was the source of
much of her unhappiness there: label bosses refused to allow her to release the
ballad, trying instead to give it to another artist, a move Keys successfully
fought. Industry legend Clive Davis presciently saw Keys’s true potential, signed
her to his J Records in 2000, and encouraged her to spread her wings.
A slow-burning ballad with the passion of a gospel hymn, “Fallin’”
described a turbulent relationship. “I was going through it bad,” Keys recalled,
“but [the song] helped me work things out.” It wasn’t an obvious hit, but Keys
had an unlikely champion waiting in the wings.
At Clive Davis’s behest, TV legend Oprah Winfrey invited Keys to perform
on her chat show. The host’s vast audience swiftly sent “Fallin’” to the top of the
Billboard chart, where it stayed for six weeks—kick-starting the career of an
artist too smart to shake her booty on camera, and too talented not to succeed on
her own terms. SC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
No relation to the Bee Gees’ 1977 classic of the same name, “More Than a
Woman” was a captivating statement of intent that defined a promising career
cut tragically short. At just twenty-two, singer and budding actress Aaliyah was
killed in a plane crash in the Bahamas on August 25, 2001, two weeks after
completing work on the “More Than a Woman” video.
Released after her death, “More Than a Woman” became Aaliyah’s only
U.K. No. 1 and remained in the Billboard Hot 100 for twenty-four weeks. The
exotic instrumentation—a hypnotic bass line and swirling digital strings—
borrows heavily from the track “Alouli Ansa,” as recorded by Syrian diva
Mayada El Henawy.
“I’m an adult now and I wanted that to show through on the album,” she
declared. “So, my writers and I, we talk. They ask me how I’m feeling, just as a
person, at this point in my life.” Singing Steve “Static” Garrett’s hot and heavy
lyrics, Aaliyah’s beguiling restraint demonstrated a left-field approach that set
her apart from R&B contemporaries such as Brandy and Monica.
Describing her working relationship with producer and mentor Timbaland on
BET’s 106 & Park, she talked up their creative match: “It really is magic. . . .
When we go in the studio, he’s playing the track, I’m telling him what I’m
feeling and it just evolves from there.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
911
Gorillaz (2001)
After the attacks on New York’s World Trade Center on September 11, 2001,
Detroit rappers D-12 were stranded in London when all international flights
were canceled. The five band members—minus their most famous component,
Eminem—took refuge at the studio of animated hip-hop band Gorillaz,
alongside The Specials’ front man, Terry Hall. (The sessions are detailed in the
Gorillaz “autobiography,” Rise of the Ogre.) Just days later, this unlikely
collective emerged from the studio with “911,” a commentary on the attacks that
captured the frustration, anger, and despair experienced by so many in the
immediate aftermath of the tragedy. The track fused politically charged lyrics
from D-12 with Middle-Eastern flavors and an ominous lilting beat, and its
mournful hook echoed The Specials’ 1981 hit “Ghost Town.”
The single marked a departure from D-12’s customary brand of schoolboy
humor and remains a largely unrecognized gem from the genre-mashing
Gorillaz, the brainchild of Blur front man Damon Albarn and Tank Girl creator
Jamie Hewlett. Keen to stay true to their virtual vision, Gorillaz dropped the
single online in November 2001. In June of the following year, “911” reemerged
on the soundtrack to the action movie Bad Company, starring Anthony Hopkins
and Chris Rock as CIA agents out to foil a terror plot. EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Tiempo de soleá
Ojos de Brujo (2002)
Writer | Marina Abad, Juan Luis Levrepost, Ramón Giménez, Eldys Isaac Vega
Producer | Carlos Jaramillo
Label | La Fábrica de Colores Album | Bari (2002)
Ojos de Brujo (“Eyes of the sorcerer”) are second only to Manu Chao in having
put Barcelona on the map of twenty-first-century music. The group is the most
significant flowering of a multimedia collective of artists known as La Fábrica
de Colores (“The Color Factory”). They set up an eponymous record label to
escape the corporate interference that they experienced while making their first
album, Vengue, in order to release Bari, the album on which this song first
appeared.
“Tiempo de soleá” (“Lamenting Times”) is fairly typical of the mix-and-
match fusion of styles that has become a trademark of this group, whose music
takes in influences as diverse as flamenco, Catalan rumba, hip-hop, funk, and
reggae. Here, the flamenco guitar flourishes and palmas (hand claps) of Ramón
Giménez combine with the Latin American–style percussion of Xavi Turrull,
who plays both congas and a cajón, the Peruvian box-drum. DJ Panko’s
scratching gives it a hiphop spin, and singer Marina “Las Canillas” Abad
contributes a slow-burning vocal.
The lyrics of this song express the group’s solidarity with the young glue-
sniffing kids—many of North African descent—that they see around their
neighborhood in the old town of Barcelona. True to the somber theme, the song
is based on a soleá—one of the forms of flamenco that most commonly
expresses sorrow. JLu See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Freak Like Me
Sugababes (2002)
When British trio Sugababes debuted in 2000 with “Overload,” they projected a
fairly wholesome image. In 2002, following the departure of Siobhan Donaghy
and the arrival of Heidi Range, their style was more funky vamps than girls next
door. Key to this transformation was their cover of Adina Howard’s horny 1994
R&B hit “Freak Like Me.” For that, Range, Mutya Buena, and Keisha Buchanan
had to thank a reluctant star producer. Richard X had made a name for himself
by mashing up synthesizer classics with soul and funk vocals. One of his
anthems—Gary Numan and Tubeway Army’s “Are ‘Friends’ Electric?” versus
the a cappella version of “Freak Like Me”—was first issued on X’s own label
Black Melody, as “We Don’t Give a Damn about Our Friends,” under the name
Girls on Top.
As his fame spread, X was offered a deal with Virgin, and the chance to
make his bootlegs legitimate. He got a thumbs-up from Numan but was declined
permission to use Howard’s vocals. However, the Universal Island label was
looking for a song for their new signings, the Sugababes. “Somebody had the
bootleg . . .” Heidi Range told about.com, “and we loved it and tried it out.”
The ’babes pop sensibilities blended brilliantly with Howard’s funk and
Numan’s cold electro. The spectacular result topped the U.K. chart—a first for a
mash-up—and Numan presented the Sugababes with a Q Award for Best Single.
DC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Mundian to bach ke
Panjabi MC (2002)
“I was like, ‘What the hell is that?’ The whole club went off!”
Jay-Z, 2008
Influenced by: Knight Rider • Stu Phillips & Glen Larson (1982)
Influence on: Beware of the Boys • Panjabi MC featuring Jay-Z
(2003)
Covered by: Countdown Singers (2004)
The number has filled dance floors around the world. But most people who have
shaken their stuff to “Mundian to bach ke” (“Beware of the Boys”) probably
have no clue as to what the hypnotic Punjabi lyrics were saying. “He’s talking to
a girl that’s just coming of age,” explained composer Rajinder Rai—aka British
bhangra guru Panjabi MC—to the Washington Post. “He’s saying, ‘You look
good, but beware of the boys.’”
Finger-wagging message aside, Labh Janjua’s haunting vocals meld
perfectly with Raj’s infectious dhol drums and single-stringed tumbi. Adding to
the energy is an unexpected bass line from the theme of cult 1980s television
series Knight Rider. “It felt right to do a bhangra mix of it,” Rai explained of his
unusual choice. “It just seemed more like a bhangra key.” And, he told the New
York Daily News, “It mixes the Eastern spiritual side with the power of the bass
of the West.”
In fact, Rai’s refreshing blend of East and West had been kicking around the
United Kingdom’s underground bhangra scene since 1998. It became dance-
floor dynamite in 2002 and finally enjoyed a major commercial release in early
2003. Raj attributed the single’s gradual success to heavy play by non-Asian DJs
in every major European city, and its gradual adoption by MTV.
The evolution of the song climaxed with a hit version featuring hip-hop titan
Jay-Z. “I discovered the Panjabi MC record in a London club . . .” he told Time
Out. “I called the guy the next day, to say I’m gonna do a remix, and he’s like,
‘Who is this?’” But Jay-Z’s interest in the song was hugely influential. “It right
knocked people out,” recalled Raj. “I thought: this is taking bhangra to a level
where bhangra’s never been.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“I loved the remix. . . . I thought, well, this is the damnedest thing I’d
ever seen!”
Mac Davis, 2006
Writer | Sean Paul Henriques, Troy “Troyton” Rami Producer | Troy “Troyton”
Rami Label | VP
Album | Dutty Rock (2002)
“There’s a lot of speech we use that Americans don’t get right off,” Jamaican-
born singer Sean Paul Henriques told Newsweek, after his intoxicating dancehall
anthem broke the U.S. market. Mixing Americanized hip-hop references with
Jamaican patois was his only concession to new listeners—who sat up and took
notice of the raw, edgy sound. “I just turned the tables,” he reasoned. “Instead of
puttin’ a little dancehall into a rap album, I put a little rap into my dancehall.”
(Fittingly, the track’s “Pass the Dro-voisier” remix featured the ragga-influenced
Busta Rhymes.) Sean Paul’s brand of hard dancehall was an underground sound
until “Gimme the Light” became a huge club hit. The song’s success was due to
his distinctive, rapid-fire rasp, and to little-known Miami-based producer,
Troyton Rami. Rami had originally used the backing track as the basis for an
entire dancehall album in 2001, Buzz Riddim. This included an early version of
“Gimme the Light” that sneaked out as a single in 2001 on the Black Shadow
label.
Sean Paul certainly didn’t have MTV viewers in mind when he wrote the
lyrics for his ode to sparking up a spliff. Commenting on the hip-hop lingo for
marijuana in the song’s hook, “Gimme the light, pass the dro,” he told the Miami
Times: “It’s a party song. I’m glad people take that in that context. I’m not
telling kids to go do this.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Wilco’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot endured a famously difficult birth. First, leader
Jeff Tweedy lost his writing foil Jay Bennett in a conflict over the album’s
experimental direction. Then their label, Reprise, refused the finished article.
Wilco took the songs to the Internet, where nearly three hundred thousand
downloads had Reprise changing their minds, but it was too late—the official,
belated release went to Nonesuch.
In the midst of this chaos, there was a classic album: a numbed, beautiful
meditation on the American (and Tweedy’s) psyche. Its fulcrum is “Ashes of
American Flags,” a rock ballad—disguised by heartrending crescendos and
queasy horns—that plods, wheezes, pauses, and battles on in the face of
insecurity and consumer sickness. Tweedy’s open wounds (“All my lies are
always wishes / I know I would die if I could come back new”) keep it personal,
but the title—also used for a later tour DVD—proved provocative.
That it appeared so soon after September 11—on an album sporting two
towers on its cover, rubbing shoulders with a song called “War on War” and
another where “tall buildings shake”—touched a nerve. There’s a skewed
patriotism to “I would like to salute / The ashes of American flags”—and even
though the track, like the rest of the album, was written before the attacks, it is
tempting to hear this as an anthem for a scarred America. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Writer | Carla Bruni, Alex Dupont Producer | Louis Bertignac Label | Naive
Album | Quelqu’un m’a dit (2002)
With its pouting chorus and gothic glory, Nirvana’s final single—released eight
years after Kurt Cobain’s suicide—seems steeped in the angst that prefaced their
front man’s death.
Nirvana debuted the song onstage in late 1993. Early the following year,
with the lyrics still in embryonic form, Cobain recorded an acoustic demo that
surfaced on 2004’s With the Lights Out.
The studio version was recorded during the group’s final session, in January
1994. Of the tracks attempted, “You Know You’re Right” was the most
complete. “Kurt came in Sunday [January 30] in the afternoon and did some
vocals,” recalled studio owner Robert Lang. “Then they did some guitar tracks
and then we went and had dinner. . . . The whole vibe was really good.”
Cobain’s widow, Courtney Love, performed the song with her band Hole on
MTV’s Unplugged in 1995. “This is a song that Kurt wrote . . .” she said. “If it
works, it’s dedicated to my mother-in-law.”
Nirvana’s version was delayed by a dispute between Love and Nirvana’s
surviving members. Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic wanted it issued on a box-
set of unreleased material. Courtney successfully argued for it to open a single
“best of” disc, inspired by The Beatles’ compilation 1. “I remember the first time
I heard it on the radio,” Novoselic enthused, “because I turned it up and said,
‘This sounds real good!’” SC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Britney Spears’s “Baby One More Time” proved that a doe-eyed schoolgirl
wielding a catchy hook could create an empire. Three years later, Russian
psychologist turned pop svengali Ivan Shapovalov enhanced that formula when
he masterminded Lena Katina and Yulia Volkova’s international debut.
Candidly declaring T.A.T.U. an “underage sex project,” Shapovalov dressed
his waiflike protégées in rain-soaked school uniforms for the Sapphic kiss that
dominated the controversial “All the Things She Said” video. “Lena has a voice.
And Yulia has a sexual energy,” he boasted to the New Yorker, as the inevitable
tabloid frenzy erupted around their titillating tale of lesbian schoolgirl lust.
Aside from the publicity storm, Shapovalov’s masterstroke was enlisting
producer Trevor Horn to helm the English-language version of T.A.T.U.’s
original Russian track, “Ya soshla s uma.” The blend of pleading, angst-ridden
vocals and Horn’s intoxicating, thumping electronica became the first U.K. No.
1 single by a Russian act.
The lesbian shtick was over by 2003 when Volkova confirmed she was
pregnant by a long-term boyfriend. The girls also ditched Shapovalov,
complaining in their official bio: “We just had to do whatever he was telling us
to.” But having inspired multiple covers, mash-ups, and remixes in genres from
metal to acoustic balladry, their anthemic tour de force has long outlived the
hype. EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Untitled
Interpol (2002)
Interpol had been building a reputation since front man Paul Banks and guitarist
Daniel Kessler, having met in Paris, recruited bassist Carlos Dengler and
drummer Sam Fogarino and issued two independent EPs. But while the press
fawned over fellow New York scenesters The Strokes, Interpol were dismissed
as mere Joy Division imitators.
Their debut album began to turn things around. Much of Turn on the Bright
Lights does indeed sound like Joy Division’s rockier moments, yet there are
plenty of gems. (The ballad “NYC” became a favorite of R.E.M.’s Michael
Stipe.)
For many, however, the standout is the bewitching opening track, “Untitled.”
There is barely anything to it: a childlike guitar riff, a rumbling rhythm section, a
two-line lyric, and a dive-bombing guitar effect. But the whole is much greater
than the sum of its parts. “It’s not a total blow-you-away, rock ’n’ roll adrenalin
rush . . .” Dengler told Uncut. “What we offer involves other emotions, which
are difficult to communicate other than on that deep, deep level.”
Fogarino described the experience of playing in Interpol: “You know when
you feel somebody staring at you from across a room and you don’t know why?
No matter what they’re trying to project—positive or negative, whether they
want to beat you up or kiss you—you feel it. So, magnify that by, like, three
thousand. Intense, yeah?” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Slob
Weezer (2002)
Writer | Rivers Cuomo Producer | Weezer, Rod Cervera, Chad Bamford Label
| Geffen
Album | Maladroit (2002)
Goofy sing-alongs like “Buddy Holly,” “Pork and Beans,” and “Beverly Hills”
are the hits for which Weezer are best known. Yet their fans’ favorites seem to
be the ones in which bandleader Rivers Cuomo takes himself to task: “Slob,” for
example.
After 1996’s proto-emo Pinkerton, Cuomo lost interest in the band that had
made him a star. A sold-out summer tour in 2000, however, reminded him of the
affection with which Weezer were regarded. Continuing in the spirit of band-fan
interaction, Weezer prepared for their fourth album by posting demos on their
website. Of the resulting Maladroit, Cuomo informed Rocknews. com: “It
should say, ‘Produced by the message board fans.’ . . . For example, ‘Slob’ . . .
that was actually a song from the summer of 2000 and it was really cool, but we
just forgot about it. Then the fans on the message board kept saying, ‘Hey, you
guys gotta play ‘Slob.’”
The powerful song painted a desolate picture of Cuomo’s post-Pinkerton
malaise. (“I drank some of Grandaddy’s beer” nods to Californian indie rockers
Grandaddy, often compared to Weezer.) It was, he told Guitar World, “written in
a very emotionally extreme moment. It’s not often that I feel that way. Maybe
once a week or something I’ll get overwhelmed by a situation in my life and
write a song about it. . . . Most of the time I’m a pretty cool character.” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Writer | Matt Hales, Kim Oliver Producer | Matt Hales, Jim Copperthwaite
Label | B-Unique
Album | Aqualung (2002)
When Matt Hales—singer for British band The 45s—received a call from an
advertising agency looking for music, all he had was a track he had recorded in
his hall, on an out-of-tune piano.
The commercial was for Volkswagen’s new Beetle. The track was the
haunting “Strange and Beautiful (I’ll Put a Spell on You).” Together, they
became a British phenomenon. Hales soon had BBC radio calling up, wanting to
play his track and asking who they should say it was by. Put on the spot, he
came up with the name Aqualung (coincidentally the title of a classic 1971
album by Jethro Tull, about whom he would have to field endless questions
when the song was a hit).
In 2002, “Strange and Beautiful” was released as a U.K. single, hitting the
Top Ten. American interest followed, and the song was used on the soundtrack
of The O.C. In 2005, Hales signed a deal to release his songs worldwide, hence
the 2005 album Strange and Beautiful, comprising songs from his British
releases, Aqualung and Strange and Beautiful. It sold over 300,000 copies in the
United States and Hales was feted by stars such as R.E.M.’s Michael Stipe and
actor Leonardo DiCaprio. Back in Britain, Hales remained known almost solely
for the commercial. “People probably think I died,” he told the Guardian in
2007. “Or [I’m] struggling away pitching songs to ads going, ‘Remember me? I
can help you sell cars!’” DC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Heartbeats
The Knife (2002)
Fuck Me Pumps
Amy Winehouse (2003)
Strict Machine
Goldfrapp (2003)
Run
Snow Patrol (2003)
Writer | Gary Lightbody, Iain Archer, Jonny Quinn, Mark McClelland, Nathan
Connolly
Producer | Garrett “Jacknife” Lee
Label | Fiction
Album | Final Straw (2003)
“Songs aren’t monolithic—at least the good ones aren’t. What Leona
Lewis has done has touched hearts.”
Gary Lightbody, 2008
Maps
Yeah Yeah Yeahs (2003)
“There’s a lot of loooove in that song. But there’s a lot of fear, too.”
Karen O, 2006
Like exposed flesh surrounded by barbed wire, “Maps” stood out on the first
full-length album by this trio of New York noiseniks. Most of Fever to Tell
showcased Karen O’s yelping vocals, Nick Zinner’s combustible riffs, and Brian
Chase’s thunderous drums, but this ballad featured vulnerable vocals and an
explosively emotional sound.
“We had just started touring a lot,” O told Prefix. “There was a lot of
emotional unrest going on. The dirt was being kicked up and the water was
getting really murky. . . . I just had fallen in love and settled down with
someone, but I was constantly going away and coming back. All that caused the
bleeding heart song.”
The lyrics touched on O’s relationship with Liars singer Angus Andrew, who
also prompted the genuine tears she shed at the “Maps” video shoot. “He was
three hours late and I was just about to leave for tour,” she explained to NME. “I
didn’t think he was even going to come and this was the song that was written
for him. He eventually showed up and I got myself in a real emotional state.” (It
has been suggested that the song’s title is an acronym for “My Angus Please
Stay.”)
The heartache of the repeated refrain, “Wait! They don’t love you like I love
you” clearly touched a nerve with the record-buying public. “Maps” broke Yeah
Yeah Yeahs into Billboard’s Hot 100 and apparently inspired the guitar break in
Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone” (“Like getting bitten by a poisonous
varmint,” O told Rolling Stone). “Maps” topped an NME poll of alternative love
songs and has been covered live by The White Stripes (it was also sampled by
Radiohead).
“I exposed myself so much with that song,” O concluded, “I kind of shocked
myself.” JH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Toxic
Britney Spears (2003)
In 2001, Britney Spears told fans, “I’m Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman.” Two
years later, the transition was over—at twenty-one, ready to support her most
mature album to date, Spears was all woman.
The lead single—“Me against the Music,” a duet with Spears’s most obvious
role model, Madonna—only hinted at the greatness soon to follow. The brashly
mature “Toxic” was a true game-changer, firmly sealing the casket on the
bubblegum pop the singer had peddled on her first two albums.
Spears purrs like a kitten (one more apt to claw than cuddle) at the start of
the song. She is convincingly hot and bothered as she tells of a relationship that
is equally poisonous and addictive. Love isn’t the drug she is singing about, and
the “hit” Spears so desires seems much more carnal. The sentiment is deepened
by a sweaty electro-pop arrangement, with a string effect borrowed from “Tere
mere beech mein,” by Indian singer Lata Mangeshkar.
The whole package feels ominous and a little bit dangerous, yet—like the fix
Spears is singing about—damn irresistible. “It’s basically about a girl addicted to
a guy,” she told MTV.
An international smash, “Toxic” earned Spears her first Grammy and has
been covered by acts from Mark Ronson to Marillion. Spears applied the
blueprint to later offerings with successful results, but nothing beats the original.
JiH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
With a roll call starrier than “We are the World,” Myles MacInnes’s first single
name-checks stars from Michael Jackson and Bruce Springsteen to David “Boo-
wie” and Cyndi “Looper.”
“Destroy Rock & Roll” was produced by the former BBC journalist in his
bedroom on the Isle of Skye, off the coast of Scotland. With its magpie samples
and deadly disco hook, the song cost only £350: the cost of a secondhand iMac
and free Pro Tools software. The enterprising Mylo released it on his own label,
Breastfed.
The title track was initially released as 250 singles, their sleeves hand-
sprayed by Mylo himself. A 2005 reissue reached No. 15 in the U.K. chart. Its
major component was an extract from “Invocation for Judgement Against and
Destruction of Rock Music,” by the religious group Church Universal and
Triumphant, Inc. (as released on the Faithways International label’s The Sounds
of American Doomsday Cults). Recorded on December 15, 1984, this denounces
major music stars (and, in the original sermon, contemporary movies like
Ghostbusters and Beat Street)—hence one of pop’s oddest hooks: “Missing
Persons, Duran Duran, Missing Persons, Duran Duran . . .”
The shoestring production, blending religious rhetoric with thumping bass,
proved that great bedroom music needs just a little imagination and a lot of
chutzpah. GK
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Mr. Brightside
The Killers (2003)
“I was asleep and I knew something was wrong,” Killers front man Brandon
Flowers told Q magazine. “I have these instincts. I went to the Crown and
Anchor [a Las Vegas pub] and my girlfriend was there with another guy.”
Guitarist Dave Keuning married Flowers’s story to his music, and The Killers’
first classic was minted.
Keuning and Flowers met in Las Vegas, bonding over a love of acts like
Oasis, U2, and Beck. With an early incarnation of The Killers, they secured a
residency at a local dive bar, where they recruited bassist Mark Stoermer and
drummer Ronnie Vannucci. The quartet debuted on record in September 2003,
with the release of “Mr. Brightside” on the Lizard King label. Relentless touring
and promotion set the scene for the following year’s Hot Fuss.
Critics fell over themselves to pinpoint the band’s Eighties influences, most
of which they readily admitted. But, as Flowers pointed out, “I like David Bowie
just as much, you know, from the early Seventies.” The song duly tips a hat to
“Queen Bitch” from Hunky Dory, albeit with a beefed-up production—“‘Mr.
Brightside’ had like thirty guitar tracks,” admitted Keuning.
“Mr. Brightside” describes madness borne of despair—“I can make myself
miserable in minutes with what my mind can conjure up,” said Flowers. But it
never fails to raise smiles at Killers shows. BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Televators
The Mars Volta (2003)
There was little on The Mars Volta’s contorted, ambitious debut suited for
release as a single. De-Loused in the Comatorium was a concept album retelling
the last days of the group’s suicidal artist friend Julio Venegas. Its violent yet
erudite prog rock was slaked in Latin rhythms, charged with punk energy, and
given to passages of turbulent drones mixed into twelve-minute riff-fests.
The mournful “Televators,” however, was a relatively palatable slice of the
Volta’s mad, impassioned magic. Its ballad tempo, and the aching caress of
Omar Rodriguez-Lopez’s guitar, masked powerfully grief-stricken lyrics,
tenderly delivered by front man Cedric Bixler-Zavala (like his partner, formerly
of Texas punks At the Drive-In). Bixler-Zavala broke into a heartbroken lament
for his friend, describing Venegas lying dead after he leapt several stories from a
window.
The brutal, poetic beauty of Bixler-Zavala’s words captures the group’s
ambivalence over Venegas’s death, expressing their relief at his release from the
agony his life had become, and their pain at his loss. But there is also a note of
bruised optimism: a sense that, through his art—and their own—he would live
on. “Televators,” with its haunting imagery, its melancholic melody, and its
nuanced sentiments of grief, regret, and hope, proved that even The Mars
Volta’s ballads could be complex, passionate, and long-lived. SC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
7 Nation Army
The White Stripes (2003)
“It’s about me, Meg, and the people we’re dating. The world
constantly tries to dissect people.”
Jack White, 2004
Writer | Billy Squier, Dylan Mills, Nick Denton Producer | Dizzee Rascal
Label | XL
Album | Boy in da Corner (2003)
Despite drumming for Alice Cooper, Cher, Ted Nugent, and Gary Moore, it is
doubtful that the late Bobby Chouinard will go down in rock ’n’ roll history. But
he should: his instantly recognizable drums from Billy Squier’s “The Big Beat”
(on 1980’s The Tale of the Tape) have driven over forty hiphop gems, from
UTFO’s “Roxanne Roxanne” to Jay-Z’s “99 Problems.” And few did so little—
yet so much—with the blistering break as seventeen-year old Dylan Mills, aka
Dizzee Rascal. He simply looped it, and rhymed over the top. The result was
astonishing, not least because Dizzee did not try to imitate the U.S. rappers who
dominate hip-hop.
In a distinctive London accent, he dropped resolutely British references:
Dizzee was “flushin’ MCs down the loo [toilet],” and “old school like [bargain
store] Happy Shopper.” You might have been a “Topman” (the name of a
clothes store), but he was not trying to be your “mate.” There was, however, the
approving aside, “Sweet as a nut.”
Originally linked to the U.K. garage scene (and its fierce offshoot, “grime”),
Dizzee claimed an affinity to rock that was borne out by the headbanging power
of “Fix Up, Look Sharp.” “I sense such a free spirit from someone like
[Nirvana’s] Kurt Cobain,” he told X-Ray. “But then I looked at my own stuff and
I can see some similarities. . . . Everyone should be able to make any kind of
music.” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Crazy in Love
Beyoncé (2003)
“The song talks about how, when you’re in falling in love, you do things that are
out of character and you don’t really care . . .” Beyoncé told writer Dennis
Hensley. “The song comes from me actually looking crazy one day in the studio.
I said, ‘I’m looking crazy right now,’ and Rich Harrison, the producer, was like,
‘That’s the song!’”
And thus “Crazy in Love”—Beyoncé’s second solo smash, after 2002’s
“Work It Out”—was born. However, when Harrison first played the former
Destiny’s Child singer the sample on which the tune is based, she dismissed the
distinctive horn riffs, sampled from a 1970 Chi-Lites single, as too retro. “I
wasn’t sure,” she admitted to MTV, “if people were going to get it.”
Nevertheless, she gave Harrison a tight deadline and, two hours later, he had
written the verses and the hook. Beyoncé came up with the bridge while her
boyfriend Jay-Z provided the rap. “When I first heard Jay’s version,” Harrison
remembered, “I was in my car screaming, ‘Whoaaaa!’”
The song has been reinvented as an elegiac lament by Antony & The
Johnsons, a country jig by Tracy Bonham, and a swing pastiche by The Puppini
Sisters. Its most obvious descendant—Amerie’s “1 Thing”—was helmed by the
same producer, Harrison. “Crazy in Love” also featured in Bridget Jones: The
Edge of Reason—apt for one of fiction’s most famous singletons. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Rebellion (Lies)
Arcade Fire (2004)
Writer | Win Butler, Régine Chassagne, Richard Reed Parry, Tim Kingsbury,
Howard Bilerman
Producer | Arcade Fire
Label | Merge
Album | Funeral (2004)
Take Me Out
Franz Ferdinand (2004)
Perfekte Welle
Juli (2004)
Writer | Simon Triebel, Andreas Herde Producer | O.L.A.F. Opal Label | Island
Album | Es ist Juli (2004)
From John Lennon’s “(Just Like) Starting Over” to Nirvana’s infamous “I swear
that I don’t have a gun,” reality can render hit songs ironic. And so it proved for
German pop-rockers Juli and their smash “Perfekte Welle.” The band was
formed by bassist Andreas “Dedi” Herde, guitarists Simon Triebel and Jonas
Pfetzing, and drummer Marcel Römer. Singing in English had won them
attention but not improved their commercial prospects. With photogenic singer
Eva Briegel, they switched to German and evolved into a hit-making force.
A resurgence of support for German bands singing in their own language
was spearheaded by Juli’s debut single, “Perfekte Welle.” Its lyrical theme of a
surfer catching a wave proved a fitting metaphor for their hard-fought success:
the melodic yet hard-hitting gem peaked at No. 2 during months on German and
Austrian charts. Rarely off the radio, its reign eventually coincided with the
tsunami that hit Indonesia and neighboring regions in December 2004. The song
was promptly removed from playlists for fear of giving offence.
Happily, this controversy did not hinder Juli’s fortunes. Their second album,
Ein neuer Tag (2006), spawned two further radio-friendly smashes, “Dieses
Lieben,” and “Wir Beide.” “Perfekte Welle,” meanwhile, has been extensively
covered and latterly awarded that most modern of accolades: a place on the
computer game Rock Band. BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
I Predict a Riot
Kaiser Chiefs (2004)
“You can beat around the bush,” front man Ricky Wilson said, “but it is British,
indie pop-rock.” There is no mistaking the Kaiser Chiefs’ origins, especially
with the recruitment of quintessentially English producer Stephen Street,
helmsman for the Kaisers’ most obvious antecedents, Blur. With Radiohead
going bleepy and Oasis on the wane, the mid-Noughties saw a new breed storm
European charts and U.S. campuses. Franz Ferdinand, Bloc Party, and honorary
Brits The Killers had angular guitars and arched eyebrows. However, the Kaisers
were unashamed rabble-rousers—most thrillingly demonstrated on their first
single, “I Predict a Riot.”
The lyrics pay backward tribute to the band’s hometown Leeds. “I used to DJ
with my friend Nick,” drummer Nick Hodgson told the Guardian. “We’d drive
home past a big nightclub and there were always lots of police and people
fighting. I went home and wrote the riff on the piano and started singing some
words. It says: ‘A friend of a friend / He got beaten.’ That was a friend of Nick,
the DJ. At our club night, Pigs, we had a band on, Black Wire. They were going
mad and so were the crowd. You could see the bouncers moving in and I said to
the club’s boss, ‘I predict a riot.’” What could have been a depressing dissection
of British nightlife became an air-punching anthem, thanks to the band’s
explosive energy. At gigs, Hodgson confirmed, “Everyone goes the most berserk
for it.” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“The hardest thing in the world is to tell someone you love you don’t
want to be around them.”
Carl Barât, 2004
Float On
Modest Mouse (2004)
“No one is really more surprised about this success than me.”
Isaac Brock, 2004
Jesus of Suburbia
Green Day (2004)
Mein Teil
Rammstein (2004)
Portland, Oregon
Loretta Lynn featuring Jack White (2004)
Writer | Loretta Lynn Producer | Jack White Label | Interscope Album | Van
Lear Rose (2004)
Points of Authority . . .
Jay-Z with Linkin Park (2004)
Two decades after Run-DMC’s “King of Rock,” cocktails of hard rock and hip-
hop were hardly novel. Linkin Park and Jay-Z, however, united to conjure a six-
track smash that climaxed with a career highlight for both acts.
Linkin Park had become stars in 2000, courtesy of their hip-hop-spiced debut
Hybrid Theory and hits such as “One Step Closer.” They amped up the hip-hop
elements in 2002 for Reanimation, with a remixed “Points of Authority”
emerging as “Pts. Of.Athrty.” An interesting effort, Reanimation was put into
perspective in 2003 by a Jay-Z single that rocked. From The Black Album, “99
Problems” was a skull-crushing mix of an Ice-T phrase, Billy Squier’s “The Big
Beat,” lines from UGK’s “Touched,” and a snippet of Mountain’s “Long Red.”
A mash-up of this freshly minted classic with two of Linkin Park’s heaviest
hits could hardly fail, and so it proved at a secret show initiated by MTV. “Our
fans,” said the Park’s Mike Shinoda, “we basically just told ’em, ‘It’s a show,
it’s small. . . . By the way, what else do you listen to?’ If somebody’s gonna put
down, ‘My other favorite artist is Jay-Z,’ then they gotta come!” (“And,” added
Jay, “if they put, ‘I don’t wanna hear none o’ that rap shit,’ you’re not coming!”)
Alhough “Numb / Encore” was the project’s hit, the brutal “Points of
Authority 99 Problems One Step Closer” delivered the biggest thrills. A new
standard for rock ’n’ rap had been set. BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Rufus Wainwright won fame with operatic takes on his battles with drugs,
family, and lovers. His most accomplished song, though, abandoned that
template entirely. “The Art Teacher” was recorded onstage in Montreal. “He’s
such a charismatic and remarkable live performer,” said producer Marius De
Vries, “it felt right that something on there should be live.” On it, Wainwright
replaces lush orchestration with sparse, Philip Glass–like, repetitive piano and a
mournful French horn solo.
The song is sung from the perspective of a rich housewife. But while the
song displays Wainwright’s trademark wit—his leading lady wears a
“uniformish, pantsuit sort of thing”—it does not distract from the heartbreaking
tale of unrequited love. The bored housewife dreams of an art teacher who took
her school class to New York’s Metropolitan Museum. “I was just a girl then,”
Wainwright croons. “He asked us what our favorite work of art was / But never
could I tell him: it was him.” The teacher told the girl that he liked the Turners,
and the now-adult protagonist claims that from that point she never “turned to
any other man.” Well, not quite. She confesses to marrying “an executive
company head,” and says she now owns a Turner. But it only reminds her of that
childhood crush. Sung by a gay man, these lines are poignant—any gay person
who has once hidden their sexuality can relate to a narrator trapped in a loveless
lie. TB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Original Pirate Material, Mike Skinner’s debut album as hip-hop act The
Streets, was packed with observations of British life, ranging from the deeply
touching to the downright hilarious. His follow-up was, unexpectedly, a concept
album. Chronicling a period in which the protagonist loses and finds one
thousand pounds, while finding and losing a girl, it is full of life’s lessons.
However, it was not until the strikingly candid “Dry Your Eyes” became a hit
that The Streets became a name on everyone’s lips.
The song originally featured Coldplay’s Chris Martin on the chorus. “I
thought that he would sound really good on it,” Skinner told NME. “I asked him
to do it and he did. After that I don’t really know. I don’t think his record
company liked it. But maybe he didn’t like it.”
“Dry Your Eyes” details every heartbreaking moment as a relationship ends:
Skinner describes being crushed as he begs his girl to reconsider. In a mid-song
break, strings swell and he intones, “And I’m just standing there / I can’t say a
word ’cause everything’s just gone I’ve got nothing Absolutely nothing.” And,
for that breath-holding moment, you’re right there with him. “‘Dry Your Eyes’ is
the moment of complete panic when your girlfriend finishes with you . . .” he
explained. “I always like to tell how it is. I think that is my strong point.” SO
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Chicago
Sufjan Stevens (2005)
“Patriotic songs with strong melodies,” said Sufjan Stevens, of his ambitious
“Fifty States Project.” “It’s the basis of what I’m doing, just focusing on
traditional songwriting.” His aim—to compose an album about each U.S. state—
gave rise to the critically lauded Illinois (also known as Sufjan Stevens Invites
You to: Come on Feel the Illinoise). The album’s “Chicago” is arguably this
indie troubadour’s greatest single achievement.
A stunning standout song amid an excellent (albeit oblique) concept album,
“Chicago” sees Stevens eschew his pared-back, acoustic approach for a multi-
instrumental sound. Beginning with stirring strings, before sliding back to
Sufjan’s delicate vocal, “Chicago” was hailed for both its emotional lyrics and
musical majesty. Fans battled over the song’s meaning, with some claiming
“You came to take us / All things go, all things go” refers to a personal
relationship with Christ. Others believe his cry for “Freedom / From myself and
from the land” is a simple reference to escaping the landlocked fields of Illinois
and the Midwest.
A city vibe is evident throughout the song. A raft of horns, strings, and
percussion adds a sense of occasion and celebration to the song, contributing to
the universal acclaim for its parent album. Three further versions were issued in
2006 on its successor, The Avalanche, a collection of outtakes from the Illinois
sessions. JM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Todo cambia
Mercedes Sosa (2005)
Having co-founded the left-wing nueva canción (new song) group Quilapayún in
1965, Chilean singer-songwriter Julio Numhauser found himself in the firing
line when General Augusto Pinochet ousted the socialist government in 1973.
Numhauser had to leave Chile for exile in Sweden, where he wrote “Todo
cambia” (“Everything changes”). It has since become a Latin American anthem.
The song first appeared on his debut solo album of the same name in 1982,
with Numhauser’s earnest vocal backed by acoustic guitar and zampoña
(panpipes). The lyrics feature a series of beautifully poetic images, underlining
the need to accept change as something that happens naturally. Everything
changes, declares the singer, except his love. Mexican singers Nicho Hinojosa
and Guadalupe Pineda are among the artists who have covered “Todo Cambia.”
However, what brought the song an international audience was when it became
part of the repertoire of the late singer Mercedes Sosa, initially featuring on her
album Live in Europe in 1990. Having been exiled to Europe in 1979 after her
own country, Argentina, was engulfed by a “dirty war,” Sosa knew exactly what
Numhauser meant. Her peerless interpretive skills give his words all the gravity
they deserve. She recorded the song several times, arguably the finest of which
was this stark, stripped-down arrangement for the Corazón Libre album. JLu
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“With the Arctic Monkeys, a lot of it is about the wordplay. ’Cos they
are quite stunning lyrics.”
Noel Gallagher, Oasis, 2006
He wrote one of the fastest-selling debut albums in British chart history, yet
Arctic Monkeys front man Alex Turner considers himself an accidental hero. “I
only started singing because nobody else would do it, really,” the nineteen-year-
old told the Daily Record. Nonetheless, his debut single, “I Bet You Look Good
on the Dancefloor,” stayed at the top of the U.K. charts for five weeks, and NME
dubbed Turner the “coolest man on the planet.”
Propelling the Sheffield teenager’s dizzying success were his band’s driving
guitars and clattering drums. Meanwhile, Turner’s wry, observational lyrics
mixed highbrow references with low-rent scenarios, delivered in an inimitable
Northern English brogue. Like Pulp’s Jarvis Cocker, also from Sheffield, Turner
wrote about the world he knew, winning fans with lines such as, “Oh there is no
love / Montagues or Capulets Just bangin’ tunes and DJ sets and Dirty dance
floors and dreams of naughtiness.”
Catchy, funny, and effortlessly relatable, the band’s demos won them an
army of loyal, websavvy followers. They spread the word via online message
boards, catapulting the boys into a record deal, and ultimately into music history.
“The Arctic Monkeys have worked right outside the record company
structure and that is really radical,” commented NME’s associate editor, Alex
Needham. Turner, he added, “is almost like a new breed of rock star—almost
like year zero. He has come straight from the audience on to the stage.”
Turner, however, claimed to be unmoved by his first hit. “It’s a bit shit,” he
complained to the Guardian. “The words are rubbish. I scraped the bottom of the
barrel. . . . I’d hate to be just known for that song because it’s a bit crap.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Hard to Beat
Hard-Fi (2005)
Fix You
Coldplay (2005)
Coldplay’s album A Rush of Blood to the Head marked a dramatic sea change in
2002. Their debut Parachutes had sold impressively, but the follow-up shifted
eleven million copies worldwide. The pressure to deliver again was immense,
and reports emerged that EMI’s share value depended on Coldplay’s third
album. Three years later, a still shell-shocked Chris Martin declared:
“Shareholders, stocks—all that stuff—It Has Nothing To Do With Me.”
Fortunately, X&Y did the job. Coldplay delivered what was expected of an
arena-filling band—anthems, universal themes, bellow-along choruses—but
“Fix You” went above and beyond the call of duty. The track’s charming rhymes
and gradual scene setting lodge it firmly in the brain, while sustained organ
chords lend it a spiritual might (echoing, as bassist Guy Berryman observed,
Jimmy Cliff’s 1969 classic “Many Rivers to Cross”).
The organ was given to Martin’s wife Gwyneth Paltrow by her late father
Bruce. “I plugged it in, and there was this incredible sound I’d never heard
before,” the singer marveled to USA Today. “All these songs poured out from
this one sound.” The semireligious bent of “Fix You” is cemented in its final
third, as the band join voices for a spinetingling choral burst. It established “Fix
You” as a live favorite and a go-to soundtrack for emotional TV moments, and
earned Coldplay an Ivor Novello nomination for Best Song, musically and
lyrically. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Best of You
Foo Fighters (2005)
“‘Best of You’ is a song of resistance,” Dave Grohl told MTV. “It’s about the
refusal to be taken advantage of by something that’s bigger than you, or
someone you’re in love with.” A decade into his band’s career—and after no
shortage of hits and classics—Grohl had finally written his anthem.
Mark Pellington directed the unsettling yet moving video, featuring the band
playing on the roof of a disused hospital and provocative images of anger and
pain. “His wife had just died . . .” recalled drummer Taylor Hawkins, “and he
had a real emotional attachment to the song. At first he said that he couldn’t even
do it, because it hit him so hard.” The sound and vision combined to give the
Foo Fighters their first U.S. platinum single. However, it was onstage that the
song had the most impact. “I thought, ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to play this
live. There’s blood in my throat,’” Grohl recalled. “But now it’s great. It’s a
release. When you go out and sing words from the heart, you scream twice as
hard.”
Two stadium performances in 2007 were of particular significance. The first
was Prince’s cover version, performed in Miami at the Super Bowl. “When I
saw it, tears came to my eyes because I grew up listening to Prince,” said Grohl.
“When someone like that covers one of your songs, you gotta pinch yourself
because it doesn’t feel real.” Then, at the Live Earth show in Britain, a rendition
was beamed around the world, confirming the Foo Fighters as a band worthy of
the biggest arenas.
The most remarkable rendition, however, graces Skin and Bones. On this live
Foo Fighters album released in 2006, the song holds all its original fire and more
—played on acoustic guitar by Grohl alone. BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Hoppípolla
Sigur Rós (2005)
Writer | Jónsi Birgisson, Kjartan Sveinsson, Orri Páll Dýrason, Georg Hólm
Producer | Sigur Rós, Ken Thomas
Label | EMI
Album | Takk . . . (2005)
Welcome to Jamrock
Damian Marley (2005)
“America is in one of its worst recessions right now, and even still,
it’s a lot better off than Jamaica.”
Damian Marley, 2009
Damian Marley, youngest son of reggae master Bob Marley, was conceived in
the media spotlight: his mother is Cindy Breakspeare, holder of the Miss
Jamaica and Miss World titles when she was Bob’s lover. He grew up making
music and toasting (the Jamaican style of rhyming, over a reggae bass line, that
predated and influenced rap). His skills endeared him to collaborators such as
Cypress Hill and Nas, and helped win him an audience on his own terms, rather
than as “the son of Bob Marley.”
“Welcome to Jamrock”—produced by his older brother Stephen—launched
Damian internationally. “Jamrock” refers to Jamaica, and the song observes how
the nation is marketed to tourists—often employing Bob Marley as a sunny icon.
“I look up to my father,” Damian told suite101. com, “and I look up to him as a
musician, and then, his topics are the greatest topics. And they’re the kind of
topics that I would like to write about—that can teach people and have
something conscious, something to say.”
Damian’s fiery toasts talk about violent crime, rampant poverty, and corrupt
politicians as three of the Caribbean island’s more pressing concerns. Sirens,
guns, and a chilling chorus—“Out in the street, they call it murder!”—add to the
ominous feel. A pumping groove by master Jamaican rhythm section Sly Dunbar
and Robbie Shakespeare fuels the seismic song. This first appeared in 1984 on
their production of Ini Kamoze’s reggae classic “World-A-Music,” from which
the “Out in the street . . .” sample also originates. Initially an urban anthem,
“Welcome to Jamrock” crossed from the streets to radio, gave Damian a huge
reggae-rap crossover hit, and won him two Grammys. GC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Little Bear
Guillemots (2006)
Romantic pop quartet Guillemots emerged in 2005 and made a name for
themselves supporting Rufus Wainwright. They stepped into the spotlight with
Through the Windowpane, which veered from stark balladry to samba, all
steeped in poetry and Fyfe Dangerfield’s openhearted croon. “The question we
get asked a lot,” Dangerfield complained to popjustice.com, “is, ‘Was it a
conscious decision to make all the songs different on the record?’ I don’t
understand that. It seems to be frowned upon if your songs don’t all sound the
same.”
“Little Bear” opens the set, jarring in its simplicity. Strings circle, telling
their own story with the mute eloquence of a silent movie score—there are
similarities to the 1982 soundtrack for The Snowman—before Dangerfield enters
with faintly discordant piano. The arresting opener spurred Paul McCartney to
comment: “I think it’s a very brave way to open an album. It’s beautiful
orchestration—really not what you’d expect.”
Oddly for a first track, “Little Bear” signals a retreat, the singer shrinking
from a relationship beyond control. Dangerfield resists making explicit the
meaning of his songs—“They are what they mean to everybody,” he insists—but
the lyrics are shot through with regret and fear (“I wouldn’t want to cause you
anything / That might break your lovely face”), and Dangerfield’s emotive voice
leaves little doubt. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Consolation Prizes
Phoenix (2006)
Phoenix boasted impeccable ties with French pop: guitarist Laurent Brancowitz
had been in the haphazard Darlin’ with Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter and Guy-
Manuel de Homem-Christo, and front man Thomas Mars had sung Air’s Virgin
Suicides theme “Playground Love” under the nom de plume Gordon Tracks.
While all things Parisian appeared to revolve around house and disco, Phoenix
turned up with a fresh dab of 1970s pop, evoking the polished, perfumed likes of
Steely Dan and Fleetwood Mac.
Their 2000 debut, United, showed promise, and 2004’s Alphabetical had a
perfectionist air. Critical acclaim, however, was not enough to motivate record
buyers, so It’s Never Been Like That saw Phoenix stripping back and learning to
appreciate the rough edges. Its second single, “Consolation Prizes,” has a joie de
vivre you don’t get by thinking too hard, reveling in its skiffle shuffle and stop-
start, finger-snapping gait.
It’s not all a bed of roses. Cut through the second-language phrasing (“If one
is easy then hard is two”), and you’ll find Mars coming clean. He doesn’t want
second best; he doesn’t want to be anyone else’s second best. “Cut off your hair,
yeah, that’s it! / If you look like that, I swear I’m gonna love you more,” he
scoffs. It was bittersweet pop—hard lessons learned, plus a sprightly tune that
won’t budge from the head. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Influenced by: Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue (The Angry
American) • Toby Keith (2002)
Influence on: Dear Mr. President • Pink (2006)
Covered by: Wanessa (2007)
Other key tracks: Everybody Knows (2006) • I Hope (2006) • The
Long Way Around (2006)
“Traitors,” “Dixie Sluts,” and “Saddam’s Angels” are just three of the insults
hurled at the Dixie Chicks in 2003 after singer Natalie Maines was reported as
telling an audience in London, England, that she was ashamed President George
W. Bush was from her home state of Texas.
The reports enraged Republican country and western fans. The band endured
death threats, radio blacklisting, and events where former fans gathered to
destroy CDs. As band member Martie Maguire told Der Speigel, “We don’t feel
a part of the country scene anymore.”
The Dixie Chicks enjoyed support from artists including Bruce Springsteen
and Madonna, while country legend Merle Haggard told the Associated Press:
“Almost the majority of America jumped down their throats for voicing an
opinion. It was like a verbal witch hunt and lynching.”
The band released nothing new until 2006, when “Not Ready to Make Nice”
addressed the controversy: “It’s a sad, sad story when a mother will teach her
daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger / And how in the world can the
words that I said send somebody so over the edge That they’d write me a letter
sayin’ that I better Shut up and sing or my life will be over?” Bloody but
unbeaten, it marked a departure from their traditional country sound, and—
despite little airplay—reached No. 4 in the United States.
There were still dissenting voices. Veteran entertainer Pat Boone told Fox
News: “I think it’s outrageous for any of these performers to be bashing our
president.” But vindication came in 2007 when the band performed the song at
the Grammys, before winning Record of the Year, Song of the Year, and Best
Country Performance. DC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Crazy
Gnarls Barkley (2006)
Writer | Brian Burton, Thomas Callaway, Gian Franco Reverberi, Gian Piero
Reverberi
Producer | Brian “Danger Mouse” Burton
Label | Downtown
Album | St. Elsewhere (2006)
The economy was in the can, war was raging in cities that most Westerners
couldn’t pinpoint on the world map, and there wasn’t much worth listening to on
pop radio. To the rescue—at least in regard to the latter—came unlikely saviors
Gnarls Barkley.
The duo—rapper-singer Cee-Lo, from Atlanta’s Goodie Mob, and producer
Danger Mouse, who came to fame with 2004’s The Grey Album—definitely
delivered a remedy for our ailing ears. St. Elsewhere was a refreshing cocktail of
what Cee-Lo dubbed “electric industrial Euro soul.” Yet it would forever live in
the shadow of its lead single.
“Crazy” was a force of nature that made the album and the band seem like
afterthoughts. Listeners were swept away by its blend of modern beats and old-
school soul. The vocals sounded appealingly androgynous, which only
heightened their evocativeness. With subtle production touches, such as warm
string arrangements, and the best sing-along chorus in memory, the result was
one of the decade’s most unforgettable songs.
“‘Crazy’ was one take . . .” Danger Mouse told Pitchfork. “It’s like [Cee-Lo]
sang it on the mic, and that’s why it sounds the way it does. . . . He was like,
‘What do you think of that—how was that?’ and I was like, ‘Ohhh, that was all
right’ [laughs].”
The tune was so good that it became a hit months before its actual release,
after being leaked to radio. Once people could actually buy the track, fans really
went bananas: in the United Kingdom, it became the first single to top the charts
on download sales alone. It also became a Top Ten hit in Europe, North
America, and Australia and has since been covered by acts ranging from Prince
and Nelly Furtado to Ray Lamontagne. JiH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“This is the best female vocalist I’ve heard in my entire career and
one of the best writers.”
George Michael, 2007
“She’s doin’ it. But good music is not out there right now. We gotta
save the planet!”
DJ Premier, 2006
“The whole ‘big band’ kind of element, the feel of all these horns and things
going on . . .” enthused Christina Aguilera, “It’s feel-good music!” Christina
Aguilera had been her poppy debut, Stripped her creative emergence, and My
Kind of Christmas her . . . well, you can guess. Back to Basics, however, was her
fabulous folly: “a throwback album to the 1920s, Thirties, Forties, using
elements of old blues, jazz, and soul.”
The double set’s second half was helmed by Linda Perry, who produced the
Stripped classic “Beautiful” (and followed it up here with the fantastic “Hurt”).
The first half, however, was steered by “the more beat-driven producers that give
me those throwback elements of old horn blares, horn sounds, different
scratches, and sampling these obscure bits and pieces—to create a modern-day
sound, with underlying, hard-hitting beats.”
The standout was “Ain’t No Other Man,” whose swaggering, brassy stomp
was based on gems dug from the crates by DJ Premier of Gang Starr. One was
“The Cissy’s Thing,” by early Seventies Texan funkateers The Soul Seven. The
other was the delightful “Hippy, Skippy, Moon Strut (Opus #1)” by New York
Latino outfit The Moon People; first released as “(I’ll Be a) Happy Man” in
1968 and then, with organ overdubs by Dave Cortez, as “Happy Soul (with a
Hook).”
“Ain’t No Other Man” became Aguilera’s first U.S. platinum single since
her 1999 debut “Genie in a Bottle.” “That was an amazing experience,” Premier
later reflected. “I didn’t know what to expect because I had my way and she had
her way but I definitely learned things from her that I never did in production
before.” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“I was going out dancing in clubs around New York. That helped
create tracks like ‘Supermassive Black Hole.’”
Matt Bellamy, 2006
With their first three albums, Muse accomplished the impossible: they made it
okay to like prog rock again. Unexpectedly, the fourth—Black Holes &
Revelations—seemed as appropriate for rock club dance floors as it was for
Dungeons & Dragons tournaments. The album featured acoustic balladry and
new wave influences, but the most drastic departure was what drummer Dominic
Howard described as “Prince-influenced, groove-based, rock weirdness.” For a
band long saddled with the “next Radiohead” tag, “Supermassive Black Hole”
was a shocking turn of events.
The song mixes swaggering rock—highlighted by Matt Bellamy’s cobra-like
strikes of twisting guitar and Howard’s steady stomps—with a funky groove.
“It’s the most different to anything we’ve ever done,” Bellamy told Rockmag.
“We’ve had some Belgian influences: Millionaire, dEUS, Evil Superstars,
Soulwax. . . . We’ve added a bit of Prince and Kanye West . . . with Rage
Against The Machine riffs underneath. We’ve mixed a lot of things in this track,
with a bit of electronica. It’s different—quite funny.”
Above this glorious racket was Bellamy’s pristine falsetto, singing lyrics that
were variously interpreted as a twisted love song or his reaction to fame. The
latter was boosted by the song’s inclusion in the first Twilight movie. “[Director]
Catherine Hardwicke wanted to use ‘Supermassive Black Hole’ in a very long
scene, with not a lot of dialogue in the foreground,” Muse’s manager Cliff
Burnstein told Billboard. “We thought, ‘This is fun—this is a nice woman who
writes these books, she’s a fan of ours, let’s get involved in this.’ No one was
really thinking at the time, ‘This is a huge opportunity.’” JiH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Writer | Gaspard Augé, Xavier de Rosnay, James Ford, Simon Lord, Alex
MacNaughton, James Shaw
Producer | Justice
Label | Ten
Many songs are awarded “club anthem” status, but not many truly deserve it.
The massive “We Are Your Friends” is a notable exception. Gaspard Augé and
Xavier de Rosnay—the DJs/producers behind Justice—created the classic in
2003, using a resung excerpt of “Never Be Alone,” from the album We Are Your
Friends by British electro-rock band Simian. “We ran a remix competition in
France around the time we released that song,” said Simian’s James Ford. “We
just gave the parts out. We had ten remixes come back from unknown Frenchies,
and Justice was one of them. I believe it’s only the first or second thing they ever
did!”
“We tried to make it a pop song,” de Rosnay told MTV. “We love techno for
the energy when we are DJing but ninety-nine percent of the music we listen to
is pop.” With a rabble-rousing chorus—“We! Are! Your! Friends! You’ll never
be alone again!”—the song led to a deal with the Ed Banger label for Justice,
while Simian splintered (two of them forming the more dancey Simian Mobile
Disco). The record that bore both their names was released in 2006. (A version
on Justice’s live A Cross the Universe incorporates elements of Ministry’s “Just
One Fix” and Klaxons’ “Atlantis 2 Interzone”—the latter produced by Simian’s
James Ford.) Its fantastic video—all party animals and collapsing objects—
promptly triumphed at the 2006 MTV Europe Music Awards. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Born in Miami in 1987, electro MC Uffie grew up in Hong Kong before finding
a base and a breakthrough in Paris in her teens. Her boyfriend Feadz was a
modest name on the French disco scene—thriving in the wake of smashes from
Daft Punk and Mr. Oizo—and he encouraged the budding rapper to guest on his
tracks. Together, they created the sexy, futuristic—yet perceptibly old school
—“Pop the Glock,” a one-woman calling card and passport to a record deal. The
single snuck out as a limited edition of 200 on Arcade Mode, but a swift reissue
on Ed Banger found its hipster audience. Uffie’s name was dropped in the right
circles, albeit without “Pop the Glock” racking up the chart positions that its
deadpan sassiness and icy catchiness deserved.
The track’s shape and delivery owed much to the groundbreaking audacity of
1980s female MCs such as Roxanne Shanté and the She Rockers, aping their
refreshing directness and beating the boys at their own game. Uffie’s rhymes
were inspired by the 1987 track “Top Billin,’” by U.S. hip-hop duo Audio Two
(brothers of another pioneering female rapper, MC Lyte).
Solo singles came and went meekly, forcing Uffie to rely on a late 2009 re-
release of “Pop the Glock” to kick-start the campaign for her debut album. As
she remarked in 2006, “People need something this fresh!” MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Ovunque proteggi
Vinicio Capossela (2006)
First, he was “the young Paolo Conte”; then he was “the Italian Tom Waits”;
then he decided to be himself. Vinicio Capossela arrived on the music scene at
the start of the Nineties, and was garlanded for his albums All’una e trentacinque
circa (Around 1:35 AM) and Modi (inspired by the suicide of Jeanne Hébuterne,
lover of artist Amedeo Modigliani). Yet, after three albums, he was dissatisfied
and unsure how to move forward. His next albums, Il ballo di San Vito and
Canzoni a manovella, found him immersing himself in regional traditional
music.
Six years of silence followed, however, until 2006, when Ovunque proteggi
(Wherever You Protect) took the Italian charts by storm. He described it as his
“hairy and horned” album, but few could have understood exactly how hairy and
horned it was going to be. The title track, a gorgeous piano ballad, made sense of
Italian culture and history: this is what makes us unique, he warned, be aware.
Our country is small, but its history runs deep—protect everything. “That too
much is for a short while / And is still not enough / And is only once.”
Capossela set up studios in caves and sang about burning Troy (slang for
prostitutes), Medusa, the Colosseum, and ancient Sicilian religious festivals.
When he toured, he insisted that he only play in stone auditoriums. At last,
Capossela was his own man, and all the stronger for it. DH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
After Led Zeppelin split in 1980, singer Robert Plant long resisted playing their
songs in his solo shows but sporadically worked with the band’s founder,
producer, and guitarist, Jimmy Page. In the mid-Nineties, Plant was asked by
MTV to play an Unplugged show, and asked Page to join him. A successful
souvenir, No Quarter, and tour ensued.
Page and Plant’s later album of new material (Walking into Clarksdale,
released in 1998) contained “Please Read the Letter,” a song later considerably
reworked for Plant’s album with American bluegrass singer and fiddle player
Alison Krauss. “In its first incarnation,” Plant remarked in 2007, “it really
needed to be like it is now.” The track was co-written by the duo with Plant’s
former rhythm section: his son-in-law Charlie Jones, and former Cult drummer
Michael Lee. “It’s a song of yearning,” Plant told Entertainment Weekly.
“There’s nothing rock ’n’ roll about it. There’s an air of fragility within the song.
It’s about unfinished business.”
Plant and Krauss first performed together at a concert celebrating the music
of Lead Belly, then approached T. Bone Burnett about recording together.
Burnett, acting as musical director, suggested songs that the pair might cover.
Plant told Mojo, “What we achieved on ‘Please Read the Letter’ gave the
signature for our entire group.” The song went on to win the Grammy award for
Record of the Year in 2009. AG
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
At sixteen years old, DeAndre Way became the youngest person to write,
produce, and perform a No. 1 single on the Billboard Hot 100. “I was just
making songs in my house and putting them online,” Way—now better known
as Soulja Boy—told Billboard in 2007, the year his debut single went global.
“Crank That,” with its bouncy West Indian steel drum beat and dance-friendly
hip-hop vocals, quickly gained momentum on MySpace, attracting the attention
of producer Mr. Collipark, who signed the young rapper. “He’s a genius, man,”
gushed Collipark to New Zealand’s The Press. “It’s like catching Michael
Jackson before he actually hit wax.”
Not unlike Jackson, Way’s performance was an integral part of his success.
He released a YouTube video of his infectious song’s accompanying dance,
which promptly became one of the site’s all-time most-watched clips, with more
than 700 million views and innumerable parodies. A triple platinum single and
full-blown international phenomenon, “Crank That” was nominated for Best Rap
Song at the 2008 Grammy Awards. But it also drew criticism for the line
“Superman that ho.” “Superman is just a dance,” Way protested to the
Associated Press. “People don’t want to go to a club and hear [about] people
getting shot or hear about your life story. People want to . . . have fun and dance
and party.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
My People
The Presets (2007)
Writer | Julian Hamilton, Kim Moyes Producer | Julian Hamilton, Kim Moyes
Label | Modular
Album | Apocalypso (2008)
“My People” is electro punk brilliance in a pumping package. Little wonder that
it holds the record for the most weeks spent in the Australian Top 100 by a
native-released single.
“The initial thing was the kick drum and the bass line,” drummer and
programmer Kim Moyes told Disco Workout. “That was the real start of the
track: ‘Do do do do do, doo doo doo’—it sounded real ‘early 2000 electroclash,’
fucking stupid. But what was cool about it was the thing that became the verse.
And from there it was a bit of a labor. It took six months and many versions, but
we kept hacking into it to make it sound like ‘us.’”
The lyrics tackled immigration in Australia. “It’s about the way we view
outsiders,” said singer and keyboardist Julian Hamilton. “Overseas, you become
a lot more aware of how people view you as an Australian and it’s inspired by
everything we saw on the news about back home—[Prime Minister] John
Howard, the boat people [asylum seekers], the detention centers, the Cronulla
riots [racially motivated violence in New South Wales].”
Initially, there was concern that a contentious song with monster bass would
win little airplay. Moyes told Rolling Stone: “There were even doubts about how
much Triple J [Australia’s biggest independent station] would get behind it, let
alone any commercial stations.” Happily, these fears proved unfounded. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Flux
Bloc Party (2007)
“Our management really hate it. They told us not to release it.”
Kele Okereke, 2007
My Moon My Man
Feist (2007)
“Most of the people I’ve ended up playing with, it’s kind of love first,
a friendship first.”
Leslie Feist, 2007
D.A.N.C.E.
Justice (2007)
Bassy 1980s funk? Flashy synth stabs? A chorus of children? It could only be a
tribute to Michael Jackson. They swore their tongues were nowhere near their
cheeks, but French house duo Justice’s song is too deadpan to be serious. The
hero of “D.A.N.C.E.” is “neither black nor white,” yet, as the children
regretfully trill, was once “such a P.Y.T.” It could be grotesque, were it not
delivered with such joie de vivre. “We wanted it,” Xavier de Rosnay assured
MTV, “to be an emotional pop song.”
Justice swaggered out of the shadows in 2006 with their Simian remix, “We
Are Your Friends.” Thereafter, they developed their prog rock-infused,
orchestral disco. For “D.A.N.C.E.,” de Rosnay and his partner Gaspard Augé set
off for England to gather a choir, recruiting eight children for their “style and
attitude” rather than technical prowess. The candy-colored result sits happily
alongside the filter disco pioneered by compatriots Daft Punk—and followed by
the likes of Bob Sinclar and Digitalism—but also echoes their rockier
contemporaries Phoenix.
Alongside the references to “Black or White” and “P.Y.T. (Pretty Young
Thing),” “D.A.N.C.E.” notches up nods to Jackson’s “Whatever Happens,”
“Workin’ Day and Night” . . . and it’s all “just easy as ABC.” In the end, the
tone is awestruck—“The way you move is a mystery”—but a delicious suspicion
of mischief lingers. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
re: Stacks
Bon Iver (2007)
“This my excavation and today is Kumran” was the oblique opening line on the
climax to an extraordinary album. “It’s referring to the excavations where they
found the Dead Sea Scrolls,” Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon told Drowned in Sound.
“When they found them, it changed the whole course of Christianity, whether
people wanted to know it or not. A lot of people chose to ignore it, a lot of
people decided to run with it and, for many people, it destroyed their faith. So I
think I was just looking at it as a metaphor for ‘whatever happens after that is
new shit.’”
“re: Stacks” was the soothing conclusion to a beautiful but harrowing
collection. Frustrated after his band fell apart, Vernon headed to a remote cabin
in Wisconsin. There he crafted an album dwelling on “an ancient, long-lost
love.” Despite this well-worn theme, For Emma, Forever Ago was a triumph.
“re: Stacks,” Vernon told Treble, refers to gambling chips and “how things
stack up.” But its closing lines—“This is not the sound of a new man or crispy
realization / It’s the sound of the unlocking and the lift away Your love will be
Safe with me”—reflected his liberation after months in the wilderness. “The
biggest thing that happened out there,” he said, “was I managed to make peace
with a lot of dark circles that had started to pool in different areas of my life.”
BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“That song was trying to be mini and rural pop art, pinstriped—you
know, Stravinsky.”
Andreas Kleerup, 2009
A teen star with “Show Me Love” in 1997, Robin Carlsson spent the ensuing
years consolidating her place in her native Sweden. However, she suppressed her
style in favor of radio-friendly pop, and it took collaboration with local synth
duo The Knife to break the stranglehold. Jive Records were unmoved by the
resulting “Who’s That Girl?” and Robyn left to set up her own label, Konichiwa
Records, where she could let “the most killingest pop star on the planet” off the
leash.
This electro-pop reinvention was an immediate success at home, where the
Robyn album topped the chart in 2005. Yet it took a repackaged version to break
her worldwide, two years later—and the revamped album’s trump card was
“With Every Heartbeat,” with another fellow Swede, producer Andreas Kleerup.
A No. 1 in the United Kingdom, “With Every Heartbeat” had a trance feel.
But, embellished with strings and Robyn’s emotion-drenched vocal, it became a
heartbreaking epic in the style of Massive Attack’s “Unfinished Sympathy.”
“‘With Every Heartbeat’ is not a typical No. 1 song,” Robyn observed. “It
doesn’t really have a chorus and it has a weird string break in the middle. . . .
The song deserved to be a No. 1, so I’m not surprised, but it wasn’t expected
either.”
“I wrote the lyrics about Kleerup breaking up with his girlfriend,” revealed
the hard-nosed singer. “I borrowed his life and wrote a really sad song.” Kleerup
gave her the green light and they produced a peerless pop nugget in the grand
Scandinavian tradition. “It’s like Ingmar Bergman,” Kleerup offered, to explain
this peculiar national trait. “Life is kind of crappy and then you make it, you
know, comprehensible.” MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Someone Great
LCD Soundsystem (2007)
“It sounds like a long-lost Human League record and it’s absolutely
beautiful.”
Mark Ronson, 2007
Songs about death aren’t often danceable. With “Someone Great,” James
Murphy—singer and founder of LCD Soundsystem and co-founder of dance-
punk label DFA—created an extraordinary electro elegy.
It’s unclear whether the song concerns the death of a person or a relationship.
However, Sound of Silver, on which it appears, is dedicated to the singer’s
therapist, Dr. George Kamen. Lines such as “I miss the way we used to argue /
Locked, in your basement” do point to his doctor, or perhaps a friend or lover.
Some have even speculated that it’s about the death of an unborn child.
Unusually, the customarily candid Murphy declined to elucidate.
The origins of “Someone Great” lay in LCD Soundsystem’s instrumental
mix 45:33, created as part of a promotion for Nike in 2006. “It was actually the
first thing I started with . . .” Murphy told The Village Voice. “It was going to be
just that and then grow out. . . . While I was working on it, I kept singing things
on the subway home while I was listening to my iPod to check the mixes. And it
started turning into a song. And I thought, ‘Maybe I should do the vocals for the
Nike thing,’ but it didn’t seem appropriate in that context. . . . So we asked
[Nike], and they were okay with it. I’m really glad because I really like it as a
song.” A pulsing synth, flickering beats, rhythmic scratching, and a glockenspiel
melody complement his poignant lament.
The bittersweet lyrics—“The worst is all the lovely weather / I’m sad, it’s
not raining”—proved Murphy had more depth than earlier, droll songs like
“Losing My Edge” and “Daft Punk Is Playing at My House” implied. A
mournful masterpiece. GK
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Paper Planes
M.I.A. (2007)
Writer | Maya Arulpragasam, Wesley Pentz, Mick Jones, Joe Strummer, Paul
Simonon, Topper Headon
Producer | Wesley “Diplo” Pentz, Dave “Switch” Taylor
Label | XL
Album | Kala (2007)
“I couldn’t say no to Kanye West and Jay-Z and T.I. and Lil Wayne.”
M.I.A., 2009
“I just woke up and just sang the whole song in one go. It was in the morning
and I wasn’t thinking too much. I hadn’t brushed my teeth.” Her dental hygiene
might have left something to be desired, but M.I.A.’s 2007 recording of “Paper
Planes” proved serendipitous.
At producer Diplo’s suggestion, the track was based on The Clash’s spooky
“Straight to Hell,” from 1982’s Combat Rock. M.I.A. added lyrics and sound
effects of a gun and cash register—references to the negative perception of
immigrants and refugees. “America is so obsessed with money,” she said, “I’m
sure they’ll get it.”
America didn’t. On MTV and a notorious appearance on David Letterman’s
chat show, the song was censored. But then “Paper Planes” was used in a trailer
for the movie Pineapple Express, and in Slumdog Millionaire. Suddenly, it was
inescapable. “America was going through an economic crisis, and I made a song
that actually has to do with how immigrants are portrayed . . .” M.I.A. told the
Los Angeles Times. “That was more what ‘Paper Planes’ was representing—not
a war protest song like some people thought.”
The track’s profile rose even further when it was sampled for Jay-Z and
T.I.’s posse smash “Swagga Like Us.” M.I.A. performed the song with her high-
profile admirers at the 2009 Grammy awards, despite being due to give birth. In
April that year, over eighteen months since its first release, “Paper Planes” was
awarded double platinum status in the United States.
“I’m glad ‘Paper Planes’ happened when it did . . .” she told Spin. “It was
much more relevant than when people were like, ‘Yeah, I got my Hummer and
things are good.’” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Mercy
Duffy (2008)
In 2004, Aimee Ann Duffy finished second on the Welsh television talent show
Wawffactor and released a chart-topping EP of songs sung in her native tongue.
That was enough to make her a star at home, but something else was needed for
Duffy to gain fame and fortune outside Wales. The missing ingredient arrived
via an iPod playlist—stocked by former Suede guitarist Bernard Butler—
featuring soul stars such as Al Green and Bettye Swan.
Duffy proved a star pupil, internalizing those classic voices while finding her
own on Rockferry. The proof came with “Mercy”—a retro-soul blast that would
have fit snugly next to any nostalgic gem on Butler’s playlist.
The song was the last to be recorded for the album. “It was like this melodic
poem in my mind,” she told Mojo, “which I just had to get out, and I knew
exactly what I wanted it to sound like. Steve [Booker, co-writer] was very
patient. He sat at the piano and put chords underneath it and we built the song
from the bottom up.”
The empowering cry for liberation from a lover’s suffocating grasp evoked a
foregone era when artists like Aretha, Dusty, and The Supremes ruled the world.
Thanks to Duffy’s mesmerizing vocals and an addictive beat, “Mercy” stopped
listeners in their tracks.
It cracked the Top Ten throughout Europe, went platinum in the United
States and Australia, and made Duffy the first Welsh female to hit No. 1 on the
U.K. singles chart since Bonnie Tyler in 1983 (“Total Eclipse of the Heart”).
The tune combined with the album’s other triumph, “Warwick Avenue,” to push
Rockferry to worldwide sales of more than six million. JiH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Sabali
Amadou & Mariam (2008)
Mariam Doumbia and Amadou Bagayoko met in the Seventies at the Institute
for the Young Blind in Bamako, the capital of Mali. Bonding over a love of
music, they became friends, then a couple. They also began to make music
together and became global stars of the Malian music scene—the official theme
for the 2006 soccer World Cup was theirs.
In 2000, Blur singer and Gorillaz mastermind Damon Albarn was
approached by the charity Oxfam to be a representative in Mali. Albarn agreed,
but tailored the role to his strengths by working with local musicians. It wasn’t
until 2005, though, that Amadou & Mariam’s path crossed with Albarn’s. For
his Africa Express project, he took British musicians to Mali to play with the
local stars. Impressed by his passion, the duo called on Albarn to collaborate on
their 2008 album, Welcome to Mali. He co-wrote and produced the opening track
“Sabali,” giving the duo’s trademark sound an electronic sheen. Explaining his
focus on Mariam’s voice at the expense of her partner’s guitar, Albarn told
nonesuch.com, “I wanted to hear her voice separated from Amadou for a
moment.”
Issued as the lead single from the album, “Sabali” won worldwide acclaim,
with Pitchfork placing it at No. 15 in their top two hundred tracks of the
Noughties. In 2009, the superstars of African music rounded off an excellent
decade by playing at the inauguration of President Obama. DC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Divine
Sébastien Tellier (2008)
Hearing a great song during the Eurovision Song Contest is a phenomenon that
you might witness once in a lifetime. In 2008, one of those moments arrived
when Sébastien Tellier performed “Divine” at the talent show’s Belgrade final.
Why France’s Eurovision committee asked the critically acclaimed composer
and singer to represent the country is something of a mystery. Tellier is a
bearded, straggly-haired oddball who dresses like a Miami Vice villain. And his
chosen track, “Divine”—originally written for his fourth album, an erotic
concept affair with the self-explanatory title Sexuality—was too smart for the
show. It grooved along like classic Beach Boys, but with sampled voice
fragments, reminiscent of producer Trevor Horn’s early Eighties work with Yes
and Art of Noise—a blend that made sense given that it was co-produced by
Daft Punk’s Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo.
Before the contest, French parliamentarians declared it an “outrage against
French culture” that their national entry was sung in English, so the singer
reluctantly added a couple of lines en Français for the finale. Unsurprisingly,
“Divine” didn’t win over Eurovision’s one hundred million viewers: out of
twenty-five countries, France came joint eighteenth with Sweden. However, a
week after the Belgrade showdown, the track entered Sweden’s chart, eventually
hitting No. 4. TB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Mykonos
Fleet Foxes (2008)
“The songs are about close friends and family, but I don’t want to
give everything away.”
Robin Pecknold, 2008
Influenced by: Suite: Judy Blue Eyes • Crosby, Stills & Nash (1969)
Influence on: Wild Honey Never Stolen • J. Tillman (2010)
Covered by: Rock Paper Scissors (2008)
Other key track: White Winter Hymnal (2009)
The rapid rise to fame in 2008 of Fleet Foxes, a five-piece “baroque harmonic
pop” band from Seattle, owed much to “Mykonos.” The song is the centerpiece
of the band’s second EP, Sun Giant, which was hastily put together in early
January 2008 after they finished recording their self-titled debut album (Sun
Giant was repackaged with a reissue of Fleet Foxes within months of its
release).
The genesis of the afterthought EP was plain commercial necessity. Sue
Busch of the Sub Pop label told HitQuarters that the quintet had nothing to sell
on tour: “So we just pressed those up super quickly. . . . People really, really
wanted it, so we eventually put it out as a proper release.”
The song’s primarily acoustic sound owes much to the vocal harmonies of
Simon & Garfunkel, The Beach Boys, and Crosby, Stills & Nash—all influences
readily acknowledged by composer Robin Pecknold. Lyrically, however, the
song is a little more enigmatic. For the debut album, Pecknold had clearly
penned two songs about his older brother, Sean. It seems likely that this tune,
too, is about Sean—perhaps a plea for him to face up to some personal demons.
But why this is associated with Mykonos, one of the group of islands known as
the Cyclades and a popular tourist destination, remains unclear.
Sean himself subsequently directed the much-heralded, stop-motion
animated video for “Mykonos,” which clouded things further. The video depicts
the eerie journey of a pair of small paper triangles over land and sea, watched by
rows of eyes. The song itself appears to be in two pieces, beautifully stitched
together by the band. Billboard duly described the second part as “salvation for
the ears.” AG
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Time to Pretend
MGMT (2008)
“Unless you hear the whole song, you probably don’t realize we’re
joking.”
Ben Goldwasser, 2008
When “Time to Pretend” blew up as iTunes’ coveted “pick of the week” in 2008,
the exposure spurred both sales and outrage. Curiously, the song’s most
incendiary verse—an expletive-infused narrative about a rock star’s life of
debauchery—was chosen for the thirty-second teaser. “It seemed as if one of
those conservative Christian coalitions mobilized armies of parents to write in
and start attacking us,” singer Andrew VanWyngarden told the Guardian.
“People were accusing us of being ‘wild druggies.’”
VanWyngarden and MGMT co-founder Ben Goldwasser wrote the song—
originally called “The Mantis Sailing Home”—in college, as an ode to their pet
praying mantis (whose favorite song, they giggled, was The Clash’s
“Overpowered by Funk”). It was first released on an EP in 2005, and later re-
recorded with Flaming Lips/Mercury Rev producer Dave Fridmann. (The
nagging synth motif appears in both, but Fridmann’s version is slightly faster
and more of a head-rush.)
Although the 2005 version helped them score a deal with Columbia, the
eccentric college boys couldn’t even get a date, let alone live out their rock star
fantasies—rendering the offending verse entirely ironic. “That’s the funniest
thirty seconds of the song they could have chosen,” Goldwasser told Australia’s
Herald Sun.
The shimmering guitars, retro synths, and T. Rex–style vocals (and
psychedelic video) yielded an intoxicating breakthrough hit, an achievement as
bemusing to the boys as their accidental rock ’n’ roll reputation. “We were never
ambitious about starting a band, promoting ourselves, trying to play all the
shows, and the things most bands do to get attention,” explained Goldwasser.
“The song is all about how we’re not that kind of band.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Sweet Disposition
The Temper Trap (2008)
The transfixing, delay-soaked guitar draws you in. The falsetto vocals tingle
your spine. The blissfully simple lyrics perfectly encapsulate a passionate and
all-encompassing love. Unadulterated, hands-in-the-air joy ensues when the
chorus kicks in. This is the stunning “Sweet Disposition,” a late summer anthem
by Melbourne quartet The Temper Trap.
The song came together remarkably easily. Drummer Toby Mundas told
undertheradar.com: “Lorenzo [Sillitto], our guitarist, came into the rehearsal
room one day with the main riff and we jumped on it quite quickly and jammed
it out. Dougy [Mandagi, singer/guitarist] came back with the lyrics by the next
practice and it was pretty much finished in two or three rehearsals.” The words,
Mandagi said, are “about the passing of the essence of youth, and how, when
you’re older, you tend to overanalyze things.”
The singer’s falsetto vocals, while audibly influenced by Jeff Buckley and
Thom Yorke, were also shaped by his early experiences as a choirboy in
Indonesia. The urgency and potency of the lines “A moment A love A dream
aloud A kiss A cry” made “Sweet Disposition” the perfect accompaniment to the
2009 movie (500) Days of Summer, about the aching despair of a lost first love.
The song also has been used in commercials worldwide—upping its ubiquity,
but never detracting from its beauty and brilliance. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
L.E.S. Artistes
Santogold (2008)
Sex on Fire
Kings of Leon (2008)
“It’s about a great sexual relationship with hot, hot sex that you
remember forever.”
Caleb Followill, 2008
A band that hardly needs any introduction. The three brothers and one cousin,
from a religious background in Tennessee, gained a cult following in Europe for
the rousing garage rock of their first and second albums. By the third, they had
moved toward the mainstream, with a sound that was slightly more clean-cut.
But it was “Sex on Fire,” the first single from their fourth album, that sealed the
Kings’ ability to fill arenas.
The worldwide smash nearly never found its audience. Singer Caleb
Followill was playing around with a melody in the studio when he starting
singing, “This sex is on fire.” He thought: “It was terrible, but the rest of the
band were like, ‘It’s good, it’s got a hook.’” Caleb wrote the lyrics while on
painkillers (after a fight with his brother Nathan), so was conveniently hazy
about their inspiration. “I think my girlfriend hopes it’s based on her,” he told
the Sun. “Maybe it is my girlfriend because we’ve had some good times together
. . . but I’m not really sure.”
“Sex on Fire” is ambitiously epic, with soaring guitars and Caleb’s
passionate vocals belting out “Yeaaaah,” before the brilliantly unsubtle chorus
(“You, your sex is on fire”) kicks in. But the song’s crossover appeal left some
old-school Kings of Leon fans feeling disgruntled. A contestant on The X Factor
—Britain’s American Idol—wowing the judges with his rendition could only
have added to their woes. And the final nail in the coffin? Simon Cowell was
actually singing along.
But to focus on the hit’s popularity, rather than its excellence, misses the
point. The song’s brilliance lies in its simplicity and the visceral beauty of the
vocals and guitars. Quite simply, Kings of Leon are on fire. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Writer | Guy Garvey, Craig Potter, Mark Potter, Pete Turner, Richard Jupp
Producer | Craig Potter
Label | Fiction
Album | The Seldom Seen Kid (2008)
“Mostly I write about life and love and death and friendship and
desire and frustration.”
Guy Garvey, 2008
Elbow’s music is often beautifully understated and intimate, but with “One Day
Like This” the band made a successful bid for a stadium sing-along.
The song was borne of the euphoria at finally finding a home (with the
Polydor imprint Fiction) for their fourth album, The Seldom Seen Kid. “We were
buzzing. We’d just got our new deal and it was like a breath of fresh air,” singer
and multi-instrumentalist Guy Garvey told the Manchester Evening News. “It
was dead simple. We wanted to do something very uplifting and very positive.
That’s where the line ‘One day a year like this would see me right’ comes from.”
The song, the last to be written for the album, came together at speed—although
Garvey has spoken of how the momentum was temporarily slowed by the
difficulty of accommodating the word “chamois” (soft suede leather) in his lyric.
As the singer had anticipated, “One Day Like This” became a festival
favorite, with Garvey repeatedly looking out at fields of people singing the song
“with a big grin on their faces.” After years of being underappreciated, Elbow
began to collect awards with gratifying regularity. The Seldom Seen Kid won the
Mercury Prize, Elbow beat Coldplay to the Brit award for Best British Band, and
“One Day Like This” picked up an Ivor Novello award for Best Song Musically
and Lyrically (meanwhile, the album’s first single, “Grounds for Divorce,” won
Best Contemporary Song.)
With the wonderful warmth that characterizes everything he does, Garvey
told radio station Xfm: “This song is about love in a very simple way—but,
ultimately, it’s about the fact that the five of us are old friends who really enjoy
doing what we’re doing.” CB
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Viva la Vida
Coldplay (2008)
After three multiplatinum albums, and becoming one of the world’s biggest
bands, Coldplay had passed most of the usual milestones. Yet the group still
hadn’t scored a U.S. or U.K. No. 1 single. With “Viva la Vida,” from their fourth
album, they finally passed that one, too.
The transatlantic smash, which also reached the Top Ten in Australia and
throughout Europe, is appropriately grand. Strings introduce the instantly
addictive riff, before singer Chris Martin begins the seemingly sad tale of a man
who “used to rule the world.” The music is glorious—as anthemic as anything in
U2’s songbook—and the language fittingly exquisite for the title, which
translates as “Long Live Life.” Martin chose it, reported Rolling Stone, after
seeing the phrase on a painting by Frida Kahlo. “She went through a lot of shit . .
.” he explained, “and then she started a big painting in her house that said ‘Viva
la vida.’ I just loved the boldness of it. Everyone thinks it comes from Ricky
Martin, which is fine.”
“Viva la Vida” helped to make its parent album a best-seller in 2008, but the
song was met with at least three accusations of plagiarism, from Creaky Boards,
Joe Satriani, and Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens). “It is,” drummer Will Champion
remarked to hamptonroads.com, “only—for some reason, God only knows why
—the successful songs that seem to be the ones that are accused of being stolen.”
JiH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
The spiraling range of Kate Bush, gritty passion of PJ Harvey, and spiritual soul
of Aretha Franklin can all be traced in Florence Welch. On hearing her for the
first time, her manager recalled, “I had literally never heard someone with such a
powerful voice!” This delightfully eccentric singer created a modern masterpiece
with “Dog Days Are Over”—which, thanks to downloads, was still on the U.K.
chart two years after its first release, alongside its original B-side, a cover of
“You Got the Love” by The Source featuring Candi Staton.
Beginning with a simple acoustic riff, “Dog Days Are Over” slowly builds
with hand claps and mandolin, while Florence’s knockout voice swells and
soars. There is a teasing moment of silence and a gentle refrain before the
onslaught begins, carrying the song to its stunning climax.
Incredibly, most of the music came from a small Yamaha keyboard. Welch
claimed that the “really accidental beat” was “hands on the wall while hitting a
drum underneath it at the same time.” Additional percussion was found in the
studio’s kitchen: “We were in there banging away on everything: the sink, the
pans, the microwave.”
Welch was inspired to write “Dog Days Are Over” by a giant art installation
of the same name that she cycled past every morning. Seemingly a glorious ode
to the passing of bad times, the song—as Welch confessed—meant nothing. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
The Fear
Lily Allen (2009)
“I’m aware that I am a part of that culture, but it’s not something that
I feel particularly comfortable with.”
Lily Allen, 2009
Influenced by: I Hate Camera • The Bird and the Bee (2007)
Influence on: Starry Eyed • Ellie Goulding (2010)
Covered by: Elviin (2008) • Ehda (2009) • JLS (2009) Tinchy Stryder
(2009)
Other key tracks: Fag Hag (2009) • Kabul Shit (2009)
A curtain raiser for Lily Allen’s second album, “The Fear” adopted the electro-
pop sound that dominated 2009: a significant step from the scrubbed-up ska of
her debut. The switch was not born of necessity—Alright, Still was a mammoth
hit—but demonstrated Allen’s adroitness.
“The Fear” gives a grid reference to Allen’s position after half a decade in
the spotlight—and to her typical second-album concerns about loss of privacy
and the difficulties of following immediate success. The lyric, as ironic as it is
judgmental, decries celebrity culture, spearing the obsessions with fame at all
costs (“I don’t care about clever / I don’t care about funny”), weight, and stars’
behavior that exercise gossip magazines. But this was no sermon—Lily knew
she was up to her neck in the whole pantomime.
The track first emerged in 2008 as a demo on Allen’s traditional launch pad,
her MySpace page. Then called “I Don’t Know,” its catchy chorus still shone,
but Greg Kurstin’s fluid production of the single showed the song in its best
light. Kurstin has a superior pop pedigree—as part of The Bird and the Bee with
Inara George, daughter of Little Feat’s Lowell, he produced work characterized
by strong hooks perking up jazz chords; Allen’s “The Fear” clearly bears his
fingerprints.
“We listened to things like Keane and Coldplay,” Allen told dose.ca. “I
wanted to make something that was going to sell a lot of records. . . . I’m being
facetious when I say that. It’s more that I love those guys.” Regardless, the
gossip magazine-reading, fame-hungry masses bought “The Fear” in their
droves, sending it into international charts as they rehearsed its lyrics in their
bedrooms for the next year’s TV talent show auditions. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Summertime Clothes
Animal Collective (2009)
Rain Dance
The Very Best feat. M.I.A. (2009)
It should have been a mess. Malawian singer Esau Mwamwaya met Swede
Johan Karlberg and Frenchman Etienne Tron, aka producers Radioclit, in
London. Having established that Mwamwaya sang, the trio began work, as The
Very Best, on their debut album. Among its tracks was “Rain Dance,” featuring
a much-fêted guest. “We knew M.I.A. for many years from London,” Karlberg
told Afro Pop. They recruited her for the Santogold collaboration “Get It Up,”
but also played her “Rain Dance”—“She really liked it so she jumped on that as
well. And then we lost the multitrack files . . . so what’s actually on the album is
a demo.”
After an advance listen to M.I.A.’s soon-to-be classic “Paper Planes,”
Karlberg posted a version with Mwamwaya on MySpace, on the day that the
song’s parent album, Kala, was released. This cheeky hype paid off, and the trio
capitalized on media interest with a fantastic mixtape, featuring Mwamwaya
singing over a number of tracks.
When “Rain Dance” and Warm Heart of Africa proved to be equally joyous
fusions of East and West, it seemed there were no surprises left. But then M.I.A.,
on a U.S. tour and driving through arid landscapes, listened to the song.
Confused to still hear water falling after the track’s sound effects ended, she
realized it was raining in the desert. Recalled Karlberg: “She was like, ‘That’s
what happens when I listen to ‘Rain Dance!’” BM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“I’m the new Sinatra,” boasts Shawn Carter, aka Jay-Z, on “Empire State of
Mind”—the epic love letter to New York City that won him four weeks at the
top of Billboard’s Hot 100. Not since Frank Sinatra’s 1980 release of “Theme
from New York, New York” has one track been so enthusiastically adopted as
the theme song of the Big Apple.
Jay’s hip-hop swagger and Alicia Keys’s passionate hook soar over a soulful
piano riff, based on The Moments’ 1970 track, “Love on a Two-Way Street.”
The result is a moving tribute to the five boroughs where both Jay and Keys
were born and raised. For Angela Hunte, who penned the hook, the song was an
antidote to homesickness while she was in London with her writing partner,
Janet Sewell-Ulepic. She told Billboard: “Before we left the hotel that night, we
knew we would write a song about our city.”
Eight months later, Jay-Z was handed the track. He penned his own verses
and, Hunte recalled, “recorded it that night.” When Alicia Keys was added to the
mix, Hunte said, “she just nailed it.”
Just as hip-hop has overtaken Sinatra’s big band sound as the musical force
of New York City, so “Empire State of Mind” has confirmed Jay-Z as his city’s
contemporary Chairman of the Board. “‘Empire State of Mind’ is about
inspiration,” he declared. “It’s about hope. I think that’s what connects with
people.” EP
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Tenalle chegret
Tinariwen (2009)
Even for a band whose innovation and talent put them light-years beyond their
peers, basing a song on an interview with the last British survivor of World War
I’s trenches sounds ambitious. But “Harry Patch (In Memory Of)” makes the
listener stand stock still, struck by its utter beauty.
“The way he talked about war had a profound effect on me,” Radiohead front
man Thom Yorke said of a 2005 interview with Patch (who died at the age of
one hundred and eleven on July 25, 2009, shortly after the song was recorded).
“It would be very easy for our generation to forget the true horror of war,
without the likes of Harry to remind us.”
Recorded in an abbey, the stunning orchestral arrangement was by guitarist
Jonny Greenwood (whose previous experience included composing the
soundtrack to Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2008 movie There Will Be Blood). There
is no standard verse-chorus-verse, and slow-burning strings are the song’s only
music. Yorke’s otherworldly falsetto adds potency to Patch’s lines: “Give your
leaders each a gun and let them fight it out themselves,” and “Next will be
chemical, but they will never learn.” The majestic tribute was released through
Radiohead’s waste.uk.com for a modest download fee, with the proceeds going
to the armed forces charity, the British Royal Legion. “I very much hope,” wrote
Yorke, “the song does justice to his memory as the last survivor.” It does, and
more. OM
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
Go Do
Jónsi (2010)
“I think you should only follow your instinct. Just write a song.”
Jón Thór “Jónsi” Birgisson, 2010
Sigur Rós front man Jón Thór “Jónsi” Birgisson has a simple explanation for
why he decided to start solo projects away from the rest of the band. He told the
English press, “All of them had babies—three babies in one year. It felt like the
perfect time for me to do something on my own.”
In 2009, he released the mostly instrumental album Riceboy Sleeps with the
musician and graphic designer who had produced most of Sigur Rós’s album
covers: Alex Somers. The same year, Jónsi made the first tentative steps toward
a collaboration with acclaimed composer Nico Muhly, who had previously
worked with Jónsi’s fellow Icelandic star Björk. That collaboration led to Jónsi’s
English-language album, Go.
Jónsi and Muhly began work from afar: initially, Jónsi would send acoustic
tracks to Muhly via email, with Muhly then going “apeshit on this bitch,” as he
told the music magazine Reykjavík Grapevine. When they eventually got into the
studio, not much had actually been arranged, so Muhly was working on the fly,
throwing out ideas, discarding half of them. “Not to mention the piano parts,” he
confided to the Grapevine, “which were all hysteria. Complete hysteria.”
Luckily, Jónsi liked what he was hearing. Muhly told Paste magazine: “I was at
the studio with fifteen tracks of piccolo. No one ever lets you get away with all
that shit.”
“Go Do” is the album’s first single, featuring layers of flute and a skipping
rhythm courtesy of Finnish percussionist Samuli Kosminen, who created the
sounds by slapping and beating on a blue plastic suitcase. As Paste heard it from
producer Peter Katis, “Samuli’s playing made it so much busier and we just went
crazy. We didn’t show a lot of restraint as far as production.” DC
See all songs from the 2000s
2000s / 2010s
“There are times that I could have been a better person. That’s why
you keep working on it.”
Gil Scott-Heron, 2010
Stylo
Gorillaz (2010)
The 2005 Gorillaz album Demon Days appeared to signal the close of Damon
Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s comic book. Albarn, restless creator, had meatier
fish to fry: exemplary supergroup enterprise The Good, The Bad & The Queen; a
tearful encore with Blur; a more sensible simian in the opera Monkey: Journey to
the West. But there was life in the old ape yet. The loose environmental concept
album Plastic Beach emerged in 2010 in a fizz of publicity that hardly screamed
“side-project,” and “Stylo” was its brooding trailblazer.
Where the band’s previous phases had been cloaked in the fun gloss of
cartoon characters, here the emphasis was on collectivism. Plastic Beach brims
with VIPs, all subsumed by the name but each an integral part. “Stylo”
showcases two chief contributors, bright-eyed rapper Mos Def and big soul
name Bobby Womack, who lend their gritty luster to the dirty beats and teeth-
rattling bass.
Mos Def drawls “electric” rhymes through a megaphone for dusty
authenticity, but it’s the veteran Womack who stamps his authority, reputedly
risking more than vocal cords as he bellows over Albarn’s spectral coos and
Kraftwerk-meets-Knight-Rider groove. A diabetic, Womack improvised to the
very edge of his health, finishing flat-out on the studio floor. It was worth the
effort; he bursts through with righteous force, beating down young(ish)
pretender Albarn, just as Steven Tyler had gatecrashed Run-DMC’s “Walk This
Way.”
Pop reggae legend Eddy Grant soon spoiled the festivities, claiming
similarities with his own 1983 electro-dubber “Time Warp.” But originality is
not the point of “Stylo”; it mines known seams, pasting together the best of funk,
hip-hop, and techno to create a greatest hits of cool. MH
See all songs from the 2000s
Contributors
Andrew Greenaway (AG) sold his soul for rock ’n’ roll, then bought it back for
half the price: barg’in! Editor of the website www.idiotbastard.com, his book on
Frank Zappa’s Broadway the Hard Way tour was published in 2010.
Billy Chainsaw (BC) leads a diverse life. The film editor of alternative culture
magazine Bizarre, he also curates art shows, writes for Empire and Kerrang!,
and has appeared in music videos including Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds’
“Fifteen Feet of Pure White Snow.”
Bruno MacDonald (BM) contributed to, and was assistant editor on, 1001
Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. He edited 2010’s Rock Connections and
1996’s still-in-print Pink Floyd: Through the Eyes of . . ., and co-wrote 2007’s
Rock & Roll Heaven. He has contributed to magazines including Radio Times
and Record Collector and lives in London with his saintly wife and several
ailing houseplants.
Chris Bryans (CB) has contributed to Time Out, the Observer and 1001 Albums
You Must Hear Before You Die. In the unlikely event that a film is made of his
life, he’d like Jaz Coleman in the lead.
Chris Shade (CS) has finally given up on having a hit single and after traveling
around South America, Kazakhstan, and Cambodia lives with his young family
in a small cathedral city where he drinks red wine and listens to Krautrock and
dub.
Craig Reece (CR) has written for NME, the Independent and Scotland on
Sunday. He has DJed around the world and runs the independent label Starla
Records of Scotland.
Daryl Easlea (DE) has written for a variety of publications, including Record
Collector, Mojo, and the Guardian. He compiles and annotates CDs and was
born to dance. He wrote Talent Is an Asset: The Story of Sparks.
David Crawford (DC) has worked for publications such as Screen International
and Radio Times, writing on subjects ranging from Mozart and Smokey
Robinson through to music in Communist Berlin.
David Hutcheon (DH) is a contributor to the Sunday Times, Mojo, The Times,
FRoots, Songlines, Today in English, and Southeast Asia Globe.
David Hutter (DaH) was born in Germany and briefly lived in both England
and France during his teens. He now lives in London and works as a freelance
writer and editor.
David Roberts (DR) is a freelance writer, author, and former Managing Editor
of the Guinness Books of British Hit Singles & Albums. He was chief copywriter
and film interviewer to the British Music Experience visitor attraction at the 02
arena.
Eleanor Babb (EB) is a freelance photographer and community artist. She has
been a Billy Bragg fan since taping a Town and Country Club gig off the radio at
the age of thirteen.
Eloise Parker (EP) is features editor at the U.S. edition of OK! magazine. Based
in New York, she appears regularly on Entertainment Tonight and is a former
entertainment correspondent for the Press Association.
Garth Cartwright (GC) is New Zealand born and South London based. He is
an award-winning freelance journalist and author of Princes Amongst Men:
Journeys with Gypsy Musicians.
Gary Rose (GR) is a writer, music fanatic, and occasional DJ who lives in
Brighton. He works for the BBC, where he reviews radio and TV programs for
the Radio Times.
Gerry Kiernan (GK) was continuously turned away at a young age from the
Haçienda-club epicenter of “Madchester” but made up for it by writing music
features and interviewing bands for independent arts and culture magazines.
James Harrison’s (JJH) first song purchase was “Hippy Hippy Shake” by The
Swinging Blue Jeans. He is recovering from being Richard Hawleyfied and dips
into Jonquil, Wap Wap Wow, and, for Eighties metal, Bronz.
Jamie Dickson (JD) wrote rock features and reviews for the Daily Telegraph
after studying popular music at Leeds University. He contributed to 1001
Albums You Must Hear Before You Die and is currently features editor with
Cabinet Maker.
Jamie Healy (JH) is a writer and subeditor for Radio Times. He was once
turned down for a job in a record shop on the grounds of his music taste being
“suspiciously too varied.”
Jay Ruttenberg (JR) is editor of the Lowbrow Reader and a staff writer at Time
Out New York. His work has appeared in the New York Times, Spin, Vibe, and
Details.
Jim Harrington (JiH) is the longtime music critic for the Oakland Tribune. He
spends his days following the Chicago Blackhawks and Oakland A’s, listening
to Throwing Muses and Roxy Music, and goofing around with his daughter.
Joel McIver (JMc) is the author of sixteen books on rock music and contributes
to several magazines, including Classic Rock, Metal Hammer, and Rolling Stone.
He also presents a series on Scuzz TV.
Johnny Law (JL) works at Channel 4, loves Josef K A-sides, Blur B-sides, and
Men without Hats albums. He is a member of garage—and occasionally dining
room—band the Erotic Utensils.
Jon Harrington (JoH) is a regular contributor to Mojo. He has also written for
Record Collector and 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die.
Kat Lister (KL) is a London-based music journalist whose work has appeared
in NME, Clash, and Time Out. In her spare time, she enjoys obsessing over Bob
Dylan and promoting her music night, Dig a Pony.
Keeley Bolger (KBo) has contributed to 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before
You Die; written for the Sun, the BBC, and Channel 4; and is the author of How
to Win the X Factor.
Louis Pattison (LP) is a writer and editor who has been published in NME,
Uncut, the Guardian, the Observer, and Plan B magazine.
Louise Sugrue (LS) has written for 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You
Die, Record Collector, InStyle, RSA Journal, and the Daily Telegraph.
Lynda Scott (LSc) was born in Milan, where she still lives. She studied art
history and works in a gallery in addition to writing and translating.
Matthew Horton (MH) is a freelance music journalist and editor of new music
site shabbyculture.com. He also reviews albums for the BBC and writes for
Virgin Media.
Matthew Oshinsky (MO) is a news editor at the Wall Street Journal in New
York City. He has written about music and culture for the Daily Beast and
Harvard University Press, among others.
Olivia McLearon (OM) is a freelance writer from London. After discovering
Madonna at age eight, there followed a teenage obsession with Britpop—
skipping over her SAW phase between 9 and 10—and her passion for music has
burned brightly ever since.
Pat Long (PL) lives in London with his collection of Penguin crime paperbacks.
Peter Watts (PW) is a freelance journalist who has written for The Times,
Independent on Sunday, Sunday Times, and Uncut.
Robert Dimery (RD) is a writer and editor who has worked on Tony Wilson’s
24 Hour Party People and Breaking Into Heaven: The Rise and Fall of the Stone
Roses, plus countless other popular music publications. He was also general
editor of the immensely popular 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die
and has worked for a variety of magazines, including Time Out London and
Vogue.
Shanthi Sivanesan (SS) saw Lene Lovich on Top of the Pops and her life took a
turn toward the new wave. But beyond Madonna-stalking and an unwavering
glam metal obsession, she eked out a career in music journalism at Virgin’s
Hotline and other magazines.
Siobhan O’Neill (SO) has rocked for a long, long time. Now it’s time for her to
write instead. She’s seen glam, punk, hair, grunge, and stoner. Now she’s putting
pen to paper. No more rocking for her. (With apologies to Tenacious D.) Sloan
Freer (SF) is a multimedia arts journalist and film critic. Former digital TV
editor of the Observer, her credits also include Q, Metal Hammer, Bizarre, Total
Film, Radio Times, and Kerrang!
Sophie Harris (SH) is a writer and broadcaster living in New York. She writes
about music for Time Out New York, Mojo, and The Times and is a regular BBC
commentator.
Stephen Patience (SP) spends most of his working life editing words by other
people, on topics ranging from music to design, but from time to time he gets
around to writing something himself.
Stevie Chick (SC) has contributed to titles including the Guardian, Mojo, NME,
The Times, and Kerrang! and edits occasional ‘zine Loose Lips Sink Ships.
Theunis Bates (TB) is a London-based journalist with Time, AOL News, and
Fast Company magazine.
Tim Sheridan (TS) has contributed to Mojo, Downbeat, Paste, All Music Guide,
Raygun, and Launch, among others. He also served as head writer for Steven
Tyler of Aerosmith. He’s not kidding.
Will Fulford-Jones (WF-J) is the editor of Time Out’s essay collection 1,000
Songs to Change Your Life. He lives in London.
Yoshi Kato (YK) has written for Vibe, Pulse, and DownBeat, among others.
Acknowledgements