My 100 Favorite Songs Of All-Time, Some of Which Are Great

Back in the month of June, I examined the triumphs and follies inherent in making a music list. In the final post, I included my personal 100 favorite albums. I intended this post to also include my 100 favorite songs, but changed my mind for the sake of space. An eighth post in the series, then. Or not. Why blast the gas all at once? I decided, then, to save my 100 fave songs list for a special occasion. As with the albums, I've only a single rule: one song per artist.

Happy birthday to me.

*****

100. “Raisans,” Dinosaur Jr. (1987)
99.   “North Beach,” George Duke (1973)
98.   “Say Goodnight,” Reks (2008)
97.   “The End,” Best Coast (2010)
96.   “Just A Song Before I Go,” Crosby, Stills & Nash (1977)
95.   “Flying Lesson (Hot Chicken #1),” Yo La Tengo (1995)
94.   “Don’t Leave Me This Way,” Thelma Houston (1975)
93.   “Lilacs,” Waxahatchee (2020)
92.   “Journey to the Center of the Mind,” Amboy Dukes (1968)
91.   “Sing About Me, I’m Dying of Thirst,” Kendrick Lamar (2012)
90.   “Windspeaks,” Uyama Hiroto (2007)
89.   “Good Vibrations,” Beach Boys (1966)
88.   “Cry For the Bad Man,” Lynyrd Sknyrd (1976)
87.   “Limelight,” Rush (1981)
86.   “Words,” Missing Persons (1982)
85.   “Don’t Change,” INXS (1982)
84.   “Johnny B. Goode,” Chuck Berry (1958)
83.   “Both Sides Now,” Joni Mitchell (1969)
82.   “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic,” The Police (1981)
81.   “Blonde Redhead,” DNA (1981)
80.   “What Is Life,” George Harrison (1970)
79.   “One Fine Day,” The Chiffons (1963)
78.   “Tighten Up,” Archie Bell & The Drells (1968)
77.   “Classical Gas,” Mason Williams (1968)
76.   “Tragedy,” Bee Gees (1979)
75.   “Die Matrosen,” Kleenex (1980)
74.   “Never Say Never,” Romeo Void (1982)
73.   “Super Falling Star,” Stereolab (1992)
72.   “Vibration Blues,” McCoy Tyner (1976)
71.   “Bye Bye,” Kim Gordon (2024)
70.   “Corpse Pose,” Unwound (1996)
69.   “Try Again,” Aaliyah (2000)
68.   “So Wat Cha Sayin,” EPMD (1986)
67.   “Your Woman,” White Town (1997)
66.   “Get Down Tonight,” KC & The Sunshine Band (1975)
65.   “Refuse/Resist,” Sepultura (1993)
64.   “Can’t Truss It,” Public Enemy (1991)
63.   “Got To Give It Up,” Marvin Gaye (1977)
62.   “Marquee Moon,” Television (1977)
61.   “Will It Go Round In Circles,” Billy Preston (1972)
60.   “Buffalo Stance,” Neneh Cherry (1989)
59.   “Oh Bondage! Up Yours!,” X-Ray Spex (1977)
58.   “Coat of Many Colors,” Dolly Parton (1971)
57.   “Dance,” ESG (1983)
56.   “Iron Galaxy,” Cannibal Ox (2001)
55.   “Crazy,” Patsy Cline (1961)
54.   “Oblivion,” Mastadon (2009)
53.   “Save The Last Dance For Me,” The Drifters (1960)
52.   “Making Plans For Nigel,” XTC (1979)
51.   “Journey In Satchidananda,” Alice Coltrane (1971)
50.   “Be My Baby,” The Ronettes (1963)
49.   “Dance to the Music,” Sly and The Family Stone (1968)
48.   “Eight Miles High,” The Byrds (1966)
47.   “World Without Words,” Nujabes (2004)
46.   “Spellbound,” Siouxsie & The Banshees (1981)
45.   “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” The Rolling Stones (1968)
44.   “Venus In Furs,” Velvet Underground (1967)
43.   “Fantasy,” Earth Wind & Fire (1977)
42.   “Entrance of the Gladiators,” Julius Fucik (1897)
41.   “Da Mystery of Chessboxin’,” Wu-Tang Clan (1993)
40.   “It Ain’t Hard To Tell,” Nas (1994)
39.   “Work It,” Missy Elliott (2002)
38.   “Sinnerman,” Nina Simone (1962)
37.   “For Ex-Lovers Only,” Black Tambourine (1999)
36.   “So Far Away,” Carole King (1971)
35.   “I’m God,” Clams Casino (2011)
34.   “Nasty,” Janet Jackson (1986)
33.   “Controversy,” Prince (1981)
32.   “Only Shallow,” My Bloody Valentine (1991)
31.   “The Hunt,” New Model Army (1986)
30.   “Chains of Love,” Erasure (1988)
29.   “Dive,” Nirvana (1992)
28.   “Our Lips Are Sealed,” The Go-Go’s (1981)
27.   “Band On the Run,” Paul McCartney and Wings (1973)
26.   “Twilight Zone,” Golden Earring (1982)
25.   “Gold Dust Woman,” Fleetwood Mac (1977)
24.   “Shook Ones, Pt. 2,” Mobb Deep (1995)
23.   “Mysterious Vibes,” The Blackbyrds (1977)
22.   “Heroes,” David Bowie (1977)
21.   “(You Make Me Feel) Mighty Real,” Sylvester (1978)
20.   “Waiting Room,” Fugazi (1989)
19.   “Song For a Future Generation,” The B-52’s (1983)
18.   “Don’t Want To Know If You Are Lonely,” Husker Du (1986)
17.   “Things We Said Today,” The Beatles (1964)
16.   “Painkiller,” Judas Priest (1990)
15.   “Peg,” Steely Dan (1977)
14.   “Never Let Me Down Again,” Depeche Mode (1987)
13.   “Sir Duke,” Stevie Wonder (1976)
12.   “S.O.S.,” ABBA (1975)
11.   “You’re No Rock ’n’ Roll Fun,” Sleater-Kinney (2000)
10.   “Fire,” The Jimi Hendrix Experience (1967)
9.     “Raining Blood,” Slayer (1986)
8.     “Photograph,” Def Leppard (1983)
7.     “B.O.B.,” Outkast (2000)
6.     “Linus and Lucy,” Vince Guaraldi Trio (1965)
5.     “West End Girls,” Pet Shop Boys (1986)
4.     “I Feel Love,” Donna Summer (1977)
3.     “Hungry Like the Wolf,” Duran Duran (1982)
2.     “Starpower,” Sonic Youth (1986)
1.     “Beat It,” Michael Jackson (1982)

*****

Note the absence of Bob Marley on my list. Note, indeed, the dearth of any reggae on my list. Alongside its white boy sidekick ska, there is no genre of music I loathe more sincerely. My opinion aside, any list of greatest songs must include something by Bob Marley…”Get Up, Stand Up” preferably. Additional songs that should appear on any greatest list worth its shakers: "The Twist," "Hound Dog," "Rock Around the Clock," "I Want to Hold Your Hand," "Be My Baby," "Smells Like Teen Spirit," "Born to Run," "Good Vibrations," "I Feel Love," "Billie Jean," "Like a Rolling Stone," "Satisfaction," "What’s Going On," "Respect," "Johnny B. Goode," "You’ve Really Got Me," "When Doves Cry," "Rapper’s Delight," "The Message."

Looking over my list, I’d say close to a quarter of the tracks would not look out of place on a Greatest List. Which is to say, most of the songs that mean the most to me don’t really matter much in the larger picture. My favorite Beatles song, for example, is pretty much no one else’s favorite Beatles song (although Bob Dylan’s cover of it filled me with a validation of sorts). “Fight The Power” is more universal, but Chuck D has never sounded more ferocious than he does on “Can’t Truss It.” Possibly the only thing I have in common with Thurston Moore and Courtney Love? Our favorite Nirvana song.

(All 100 songs are intense audio-visual experiences for me. I have no clue if that’s anomalous or not.)

Songs considered “great” are associated with movements, while “favorite” tunes are associated with moments. Great songs are legend-makers; favorite songs are button-breakers. And I guess, finally, great songs represent adults at work, and favorites represent children at play.

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 7-It's About Me, Unless It Isn't)

All right, winding down!

These seemingly endless collections of “Greatest” and “Best” from the self-appointed experts got me to thinking (and re-thinking): where’s my list?

Please understand, the following is not my selection of the 100 Best or Greatest Albums. This is absolutely, purely, strictly my favorite albums. The ones I find myself going back to with canine loyalty. Just one caveat—only one album per artist.

100. Cranium-Pragmatics (2001)
99.   Godspeed You Black Emperor-Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend! (2012)
98.   New Model Army-Vengeance (1984)
97.   7 Year Bitch-Sick ‘Em (1992)
96.   Talking Heads-Fear Of Music (1979)
95.   Kendrick Lamar-good kid, m.A.A.d city (2012)
94.   Waxahatchee-Ivy Tripp (2015)
93.   Joni Mitchell-Ladies of the Canyon (1970)
92.   The Grouch-Making Perfect Sense (1999)
91.   Killer Mike-R.A.P. Music (2012)
90.   Kraftwerk-Trans-Europe Express (1977)
89.   Can-Monster Movie (1969)
88.   Stevie Wonder-Songs in the Key of Life (1976)
87.   Heart-Dreamboat Annie (1975)
86.   Charlie Byrd and Stan Getz-Jazz Samba (1962)
85.   Breadwinner-Burner (1994)
84.   Circle of Tyrants-S/T (2005)
83.   DJ Shadow-Endtroducing (1996)
82.   Nitty Gritty Dirt Band-Will the Circle Be Unbroken (1972)
81.   Viro the Virus-Outbreak (2005)
80.   Roseanne Cash-Seven Year Ache (1981)
79.   Caspar Brotzmann Massaker-Black Axis (1989)
78.   Magik Markers-The Voldoror Dance (2006)
77.   Hole-Live Through This (1994)
76.   Fleetwood Mac-Rumours (1977)
75.   Loretta Lynn-Coal Miner’s Daughter (1971)
74.   Boogie Down Productions-Criminal Minded (1987)
73.   Polvo-Exploded Drawing (1996)
72.   Lubomyr Melnyk-Fallen Trees (2018)
71.   Redman-Dare Iz A Darkside (1994)
70.   XTC-Drums and Wires (1979)
69.   Built To Spill-There’s Nothing Wrong With Love (1994)
68.   Anthrax-Persistence of Time (1990)
67.   Pete Rock & CL Smooth-Mecca and the Soul Brother (1992)
66.   Judas Priest-Screaming For Vengeance (1982)
65.   The Dead C-Armed Courage (2013)
64.   Best Coast-Crazy For You (2010)
63.   Eric B. & Rakim-Follow the Leader (1988)
62.   Black Sabbath-S/T (1970)
61.   El-P-I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead (2007)
60.   My Bloody Valentine-Loveless (1991)
59.   Dolly Parton-Coat Of Many Colors (1971)
58.   Gang Starr-Hard To Earn (1994)
57.   Khruangbin-Con Todo el Mundo (2018)
56.   Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson-Waylon & Willie (1978)
55.   Pylon-Gyrate (1980)
54.   Janet Jackson-Control (1986)
53.   Television-Marquee Moon (1977)
52.   Sepultura-Chaos A.D. (1993)
51.   Steely Dan-Aja (1977)
50.   Unwound-The Future of What (1995)
49.   A Tribe Called Quest-Midnight Marauders (1993)
48.   Soundgarden-Superunknown (1994)
47.   Wild Flag-S/T (2011)
46.   Kim Gordon-No Home Record (2019)
45.   Slant 6-Soda Pop Rip Off (1994)
44.   Alice in Chains-Dirt (1992)
43.   Devo-Duty Now For the Future (1979)
42.   Aesop Rock-Skelethon (2012)
41.   Miles Davis-Bitches Brew (1970)
40.   Melvins-Houdini (1993)
39.   R.E.M.-Murmur (1983)
38.   The Ex-History Is What’s Happening (1982)
37.   Erase Errata-At Crystal Palace (2003)
36.   Dinosaur Jr.-You’re Living All Over Me (1987)
35.   Non Phixion-The Future Is Now (2002)
34.   Prince-1999 (1982)
33.   Yo La Tengo-Electr-O-Pura (1995)
32.   Nirvana-Nevermind (1991)
31.   Jesus Lizard-Liar (1992)
30.   Dark Angel-Darkness Descends (1986)
29.   Pavement-Slanted and Enchanted (1992)
28.   Carole King-Tapestry (1971)
27.   Boredoms-Vision Creation Newsun (1999)
26.   The Contortions-Buy (1978)
25.   Shonen Knife-Burning Farm (1983)
24.   J Dilla-Donuts (2006)
23.   Pantera-Far Beyond Driven (1994)
22.   Oxes-S/T (2000)
21.   Cannibal Ox-The Cold Vein (2001)
20.   Meat Puppets-Too High To Die (1994)
19.   Duran Duran-Rio (1982)
18.   Gang of Four-Entertainment! (1979)
17.   Megadeth-Rust In Peace (1990)
16.   Metallica-…And Justice For All (1988)
15.   Jimi Hendrix Experience-Electric Ladyland (1968)
14.   Paul McCartney and Wings-Band on the Run (1973)
13.   Helium-The Dirt of Luck (1995)
12.   Saturday Night Fever soundtrack (1977)
11.   Slayer-Hell Awaits (1985)
10.   Wu-Tang Clan-Enter The Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers (1993)
9.     Fugazi-Repeater (1990)
8.     Sleater-Kinney-All Hands on the Bad One (2000)
7.     Nas-Illmatic (1994)
6.     Stereolab-Dots and Loops (1997)
5.     Vince Guaraldi Trio-A Charlie Brown Christmas (1965)
4.     The B-52’s-S/T (1979)
3.     ESG-Come Away With ESG (1983)
2.     Beatles-Abbey Road (1969)
1.     Sonic Youth-A Thousand Leaves (1998)

One thing I like about my list, it’s got a distinct personality. It’s my taste, no concessions. This is what staying in the micro does. It’s limiting, but it’s honest. Now, if I were to make a list of those albums I believe to be the most vital to understanding the history of music, it would look drastically different. That’s what living in the macro does. It forces you to admit hard truths.

Paste’s 300 list included three Joni Mitchell albums, none of which were Ladies of the Canyon. Most lists will just go with Blue. No Ladies, ever. Critics have decided that if Stereolab is to be thrown a bone, Emperor Tomato Ketchup it is (because Pearl Jam covered “Noise of Carpet”? I dunno). I love how dark and raw Hell Awaits is, and every inch as influential as Reign In Blood, buuuuuuttttt...one album was produced by Rick Rubin and the other one wasn't. The B-52's will never be taken as seriously as they should. Oh well. Why get mad over the vicious disrespect showed groups like Boredoms and Dead C, when those groups were never made to mold the mainstream?

It’s interesting, seeing how artistic narratives shaped by the view through the general critical lens change over time. Take the Beatles, the most-analyzed act ever. Up until the mid-90s, Sgt. Pepper’s was the one. Not just for them, but of all pop/rock music. Sgt. Pepper’s was a sea change in sound, and pulled off the tidy trick of selling units whilst innovating. Then, the tables turned. “Overrated!” went the cries. “The White Album is their true masterpiece!” Nowadays, Abbey Road is taking its turn at the head of the parade, proof that justice is out there. But who knows how long that lasts.

Why, though? Why did Sgt. Pepper fatigue hit like the bends? I think you can blame two things: a worthy version not being on CD until 2009, and the contrarian in all of us who will not be told by Jann Wenner and his cadre of crusty dusty musties what the hell great music is! It didn’t even make the Apple 100. (Still a great album, though.)

I’m curious to see how the conventional wisdom surrounding the modern legends evolves. Beyonce is unlikely to top Lemonade, Taylor Swift is on a collision course with mass geek revolt, and I’m dubious the Kendrick narrative will change, barring a substantial “Pulitzer Prize=Undisputed Quality” movement.

The absence of Devo on a lot of these lists is wild to me. Style, substance, the spud-boys had both in spades. Hugely influential, and their early stuff’s aged better than the latter. Is it the Devo 2.0 thing? Sonic Youth will always be represented Daydream Nation, maybe Sister or Goo, if Anthony Fantano has say in the hey. A Thousand Leaves is the album I want to be buried with (or burned with, I haven’t decided) but in the grand scheme, it’s just another bag o’ beans.

Thank you for reading. I leave you with my ten personal favorites from the following under-loved genres.

Country
Waylon & Willie
Will the Circle Be Unbroken
Coat of Many Colors
Coal Miner’s Daughter
Seven Year Ache
Johnny Cash-At Folsom Prison (1968)
The Chicks-Home (2002)
Ray Charles-Modern Sounds in Country and Western Music (1962)
Emmylou Harris-Roses in the Snow (1980)
Trio-Trio (1987)

Heavy Metal
Hell Awaits
…And Justice For All
Rust In Peace
Far Beyond Driven
Darkness Descends
Houdini
Chaos A.D.
Dirt
Screaming For Vengeance
Black Sabbath

Hip-Hop
Illmatic
Hard To Earn
Donuts
The Future Is Now
Skelethon
Midnight Marauders
Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers
I’ll Sleep When You’re Dead
Mecca and the Soul Brother
Follow the Leader

Punk Rock
Repeater
Soda-Pop Rip Off
Ramones-S/T (1976)
Germ Free Adolescents
Bad Brains-S/T (1982)
Green Day-Dookie (1994)
White Lung-Deep Fantasy (2014)
History Is What’s Happening
Burning Farm
Sick ‘Em

Jazz

A Charlie Brown Christmas
Jazz Samba
Bitches Brew
Sarah Vaughan-S/T (1955)
John Coltrane-A Love Supreme (1965)
Herbie Hancock-Head Hunters (1973)
Alice Coltrane-Journey in Satchidananda (1971)
McCoy Tyner-Cosmos (1976)
Nina Simone-I Put A Spell On You (1965)
Lee Morgan-Sonic Boom (1979)

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 6-Don't Worry That It's Not Good Enough)

Boy howdy, girl rowdy…let’s just dive into this elbows up, yeah?

It’s less stressful, this song-rating business. That’s why Rolling Stone’s put out the 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time list four times this century. It drives views, it inflames haters, it imbues stans, and unlike a list of 500 Greatest Albums, no one doubts the people who made the list actually heard every entry.

It’s trickier, though. Studying these lists, I realized my most frequent complaints concerned not a song itself but either A) the artist in question had a far greater song that could take its place or B) this ranking business is about as useful as a blade-less shovel. Why not just list the songs? Alphabetical, chronological, by genre, by region…not this numerical crap, as if there’s some actual, calculable value to opinions.

Yeah, well, they didn’t. Maybe in the future they will, as humanity embraces egalitarianism, but I’m high off doubting that.

Rolling Stone’s 500 list held on as long as it could to tracks that in reality lost their relevance the second Revolver hit the scene (looking at you, “Cathy’s Clown” and “Earth Angel”), and songs crucial to the development of the genre went from top fifteen to the top two hundreds (“My Generation” and “Purple Haze”). It’s really with the 2021 and 2024 lists that the aforementioned epiphany floated upon my brain. Rolling Stone is paying tribute to some tremendous songs, across a variety of eras and genres. The primary cause of annoyances felt whilst checking these articles out is not “I hate this song it shouldn’t be here” but “I love this song it should be ranked higher.”

And that’s the only real quibble I have with any of the lists from Pitchfork, as well. As historical records, snapshots in time, their merits outweigh their deficiencies.

Both sites dipped their toe into decades-lists as well, Pitchfork from the 1960s to now, Rolling Stone from the 1980s to now. Interestingly, RS's Eighties and Nineties lists are each the thoughts of a single writer, Rob Sheffield, while the latest two are credited to multiple writers. Cynical me sez such is the case since no one scribe on staff is willing to ride so hard for the music of the 21st century. (Seriously, Rob’s advocacy for the most brilliant period of music in world history is lovely.) 

The Stone's attempts at ranking the 100 best tracks of select genres have gone about as well as wrestling an alligator with one arm. Lemme save ya some time: “Painkiller” isn’t on the Metal list, “Ether” isn’t on the Hip-Hop list, and “Let Your Love Flow” isn’t on the Country List. You’re welcome.

PItchfork’s looks at the Sixties and Seventies are the most readable that site will ever be. Again, once I stopped focusing on the number by the name, I could just enjoy the nostalgia tickle. Like, I love that they put “Linus & Lucy” at 43, but is it really better than “Walk Away Renee” or “Wichita Lineman”? No but who cares those songs are on there too. Whimsy, balladry, it’s beauty.

The Eighties list is pretty good (I’ve high standards), but that Nineties list…remember when I said earlier in this series that Pitchfork was fated to cover no other decade of music as frequently or as fervently as the decade in which the site itself debuted? Behold! Two separate song lists, twelve years apart. The differences are stark and plentiful. This newer list is Pitchfork telling everyone, “Our staff listens to more than indie rock now.” Comparing the lists, we see song after song tumbling Homer Simpson-like down the rockiest, jaggiest cliff ever animated.

“Only Shallow,” 6 to 78.
“Holland, 1945,” 7 to oblivion
“Your Woman,” 158 to the back of your grandmother’s closet
“Autumn Sweater,” 49 to 100
“Enjoy the Silence,” 15 to 106
“Girls and Boys,” 26 to 220
“Gold Soundz”, 1 to 40

(goddamn, justice for Malkmus, man)

Whether the heterogeneity on display is a sign of honest evolution or not, most of the choices are unfuckwitable: “Tear Da Club Up,” “Deceptacon,” “U.N.I.T.Y.” Another great song new to the 2022 list is the remix of Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy.” In fact, that’s the song Pitchfork staff deemed the best of the decade. I don’t know what happened in the interim to cause such a rise in esteem for this particular track, but…it’s a bit of a self-indictment. I mean, there weren’t that many Radiohead songs on the old list.

NME did a 500 Greatest Songs list too, a year after dumping the 500 Greatest Albums into the landfill of public opinion, and I tell you, no one loves British music more than British people. Here in America, we knew to stop Spandau Ballet after two songs. John Lennon’s been dead for almost 45 years now, and we’re no longer scared to admit “Imagine” is ass.

Well, I certainly can’t end this post on that gasp-worthy bit of wordcraft, can I? 

For all the crap I give NME’s list, they at least acknowledge Paul McCartney penned and performed some of the greater songs of the Seventies, and apparently won’t get the credit due until he’s made his final move on this game board.

All told, not nearly enough love for metal on these lists. You can’t tell me that “Holy Wars,” “Painkiller,” “Raining Blood,” “One,” and “I’m Broken” don’t deserve love. And no, I don’t just mean because they’re great songs, I mean because they were trademark songs from legendary bands. Switching sides a sec, I understand why “Hey Ya!” rates higher than “B.O.B” on all-time lists. It was a ubiquitious, electrifying, crossover smash from the half of Outkast who doesn’t really like rap that much. By my standards alone, however, it’s “B.O.B.” all day and all of the night. How many rap songs do you know with guitar solos?!

Not enough disco. Rolling Stone threw a bone to “Mighty Real,” but where’s “You Should Be Dancing,” “Get Down Tonight,” or “If I Can’t Have You”?

I’ll argue that you can’t have a legtimate 500 Greatest Songs without “The Twist,” “Rock Around the Clock,” or “I Feel Love.”

Just, who would argue with me?


Tomorrow…the moment at least one person’s been waiting for…my personal favorite 100 albums of all-time ever in life!

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 5-Enthusiasm and Aptitude)

I’d be remiss if I pretended noteworthy rankings of history's best music came only from the likes of Rolling Stone, Spin and Pitchfork. Pretty Americentrist, also.

So, England, Britain, United Kingdom, wherever whatever, show me your ways. You’ve ostensibly produced the most influential bands in popular music history, after all. If we’re going pound for pound, tune for tune, shit, the amount of great music produced by the li’l ol’ United Kingdom embarrasses the big ol’ USA.

Okay, I’ll turn to New Musical Express (NME for the hurried). Started in the 1950s as an “inkie” determined to imbue the very musical craft with much-deserved dignity, by the 1980s it ruled as the most venerable music mag in the U.K.  In late 2013, some sixty years after issue one, dozens of former and current NME writers were summoned to compile the 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time.

(Yes, I know Uncut also does 500 Greatest Albums lists, but they do them so frequently, it rather dilutes the potion.)

My verdict? About a fifth of the list is great stuff, two-fifths is piffle. Present on the list is AM by the Arctic Monkeys, a platter only one month old at the time of publication. Need I say more? (I need not say any of this, really. Still and yet, here I am. You too. Let’s continue.)

For a summation of the legendary culture clash I experienced whilst analyzing NME’s idea of greatness, this list is just like a television set: the higher you go, the worse the view. The Queen is Dead at number one…better than Revolver! Is This It pulls in at the fourth spot…better than The Velvet Underground & Nico! Oasis, the Stone Roses and Pulp in the top 10, ho yes, I can taste the savory beans with every click of the keys.

Let me not downplay, diminish, degrade or denigrate the overall quality of English music: Bowie pulled down 10 albums, Beatles 7, PJ Harvey and Radiohead 5 each, 4 for the Stones. I may pick a nit here and there, but far be it from my lame ass to deny those aforementioned artists their place in paradise. As an American, though, I’ve become attuned to and adverse to extreme nationalistic pride. 

To let NME tell the story, both Blur and the National have put out as many classics as the Who, Nirvana, Nick Cave and R.E.M. (4). The Beach Boys and the Beastie Boys are on equal footing (3), as are Jay and Kanye, Kings of Leon and Kraftwerk, Manic Street Preachers and Michael Jackson. Also responsible for three unmissable albums: Prince, the Pixies, Pavement, Public Enemy and Pulp. Sonic Youth and Suede. Velvet Underground and the Verve! Oasis, thank you goddesses, managed only two. 

Pride blinded the NME to the many joys of soul, funk, disco and metal. Patti Smith’s seminal Horses is the highest-rated album by a woman (12), and I’ll conclude by saying, oh would I have loved to be a spider on the bathroom of either Gallagher brother’s mansion when they read that.

Last month, Apple Music—a streaming service, mind, a streaming service and nothing more—announced their 100 Best Albums of All-Time, released over ten days in chunks of ten records per day. This “modern love letter...(a)ssembled with the help of artists and experts” was thus not simply constructed for maximum engagement, it was promoted that way as well.

Setting aside what an butt-chafing week that was on social media, the content left the churn more soup than butter. Billie Eilish at all, much less 30? Frank Ocean at 5? Lauryn Hill the best, okay, just because I disagree doesn’t mean I don’t understand. The good taste to deem Abbey Road the Fab’s finest doesn’t excuse the omissions: James Brown, Sly Stone, Willie Nelson, Billie Holiday. Nor will I let slide the glut of music released in the last decade: seventeen, more than every other decade bar the 1990s and 1970s. Gross, Apple.

While typing up the introductory post of this series, I received a text from a pal familiar with my project. Said pal brought tidings of great aggravation: Paste, a late ‘90s arrival which went from site to mag to site again, had just let loose The 300 Greatest Albums of All Time.

Great.

Except, maybe?

Paste throughout the years struck me as a very even-handed site, its writers prioritizing fairness over personality. The only of its lists I ever revisit (or remember, really) is a thorough, wildly-flawed ranking of every MST3K episode. In retrospect, I recognize this relative ignorance as a positive; free of preconceptions, I could absorb the Paste 300 without a sneer or snort. My eyes wouldn’t roll; my heels wouldn’t rock. The experience, if I may be so predictable as to make a food reference, felt akin to trying mayo on a grilled cheese. 

“The criteria for what constitutes a ‘great album,’ to us, falls someplace in-between influence and timelessness,” Paste states, as exquisite an explanation as I can imagine. None of which precludes the inclusion of artists guaranteed unknown to most Paste readers. I don’t mean X-Ray Spex or the Raincoats, I mean Deulgukhwa, Shin Joong Hyun and Fishmans. The hope is, rather than bitch and moan about pandering or peacocking, bewildered readers will seek out said acts and form their own opinions.

For every Britney Spears and Carly Rae Jepsen shoving me towards the precipice of disgust, so came a Steely Dan and Fiona Apple to redirect my emotions into a more ideal direction. The crowning of Songs In the Key of Life will age especially fantastically when Rolling Stone follows suit in another five or so years. (Not so much Live Through This over Nevermind. At least with deeming Off the Wall over Thriller, I can see the sense behind it, although I may disagree.)

Tomorrow…these self-styled arbiters of awesome also had opinions about individual songs….

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 4-The Tines, They Are A-Changin')

The next (last?) phenomenon in music journalism popped up in the American Midwest, when a young Fugazi fan whose lack of writing experience did little to deter his infatuation with fanzine culture decided he had next. 

Unlike Rolling Stone and Spin, or Time and Newsweek, fanzines offered passion on the cheap. Few endured beyond a fistful of issues, but longevity didn’t matter. Enthusiasm mattered. The expression spiral mattered. Pitchfork Media, for a time, mattered.

Let revisionism ne'er reign; an online publication highlighting the alternative and indie rock scenes was necessary. Sharp up here, sloppy down there, the imperfections of early Pitchfork were as invaluable as they were inevitable. The Internet age had its Village Voice, albeit one where everyone thought they were Robert Christgau,  and wielded numbers instead of letters as they subverted conventional wisdoms. Find them passionate or pretentious, authentic or phony, quirky or elitist, Pitchfork’s reviews at minimum broadened the idea of what music critics should and shouldn’t write about, how they should or shouldn’t write.

No group of writers can co-exist for long before one of them says, “Why don’t we make a list?” Unlike Rolling Stone, however, who apparently believe their 500 Albums list is sufficient to cover the music released during their peak respectability, Pitchfork brought their trademark snark to albums released before their founder was. Why not? The Sixties ushered in the first great wave of pop and rock music, a overhaul of the building that embraced the open-floor plan and cared little for “resell ability.” 

Pitchfork’s 200 Best Albums of the 1960s displays what worked about the site (passionate listening, ambitious writing) and what did not (overreach caused by distance, vicious tone caused by petulance--can you imagine how a PF scribe might’ve annihilated, say, Strawberry Alarm Clock)? I only disagree with one entry in the top 20 (guess now for a free prize in your mind) and the variety is truly admirable: Ennio Morricone, Wanda Jackson, Cecil Taylor, Donald Byrd, Peter Brotzmann and Alice Coltrane stake claims on the same ground as Velvet Underground, Jimi, the Beach Boys and Alice’s husband.

PF scaled back for the 1970s, and whether credit rests with reduction or revelation, this list hits the right nail most of the time, with my personal yeas outnumbering the nays 30 to 11. The top 10 especially is redoubtable. (No extra credit for diversity here, since any list of that decade that refuses to give props to disco, soul, funk and punk is basically a half-inflated parade balloon in a squall.) Any article that possesses the good sense to put XTC’s best album in the top 40, and the better sense to keep the Sex Pistols out of the top 50 is fine by me.

And then, something funny happened. Not funny like J. Elvis Weinstein on Cinematic Titanic, but funny like J. Elvis Weinstein on Mystery Science Theater 3000. Music fans eager for the newest and hottest sounds began seeking guidance from these Chicago-based hipsters in greater numbers than ever. From 2001 to 2005, monthly readership increased thirtyfold. The site’s 10-point rating scale became an easily-parodied, hotly-contested symbol of cultural commentary run amok, the heat rising the more onlookers realized  Pitchfork review could prove helpful or harmful to an artist’s career (just ask Arcade Fire and Travis Morrison). Pitchfork relished their roles as narrative-shapers, proclaiming themselves “The Most Trusted Voice In Music.”

Come 2003, the website referred to as “Bitchdork” by its more piquant naysayers turned its discriminating peepers to the 1980s, AKA my favorite decade ever. Exactly how dicey a read this list will be is foreshadowed in the introduction:

Pitchfork seeks to prove that, amidst the smooth-jazz of Kenny G, the vanilla soul of Hall & Oates, and the hair-rock of Warrant lay a revolution in sound. Respect is due.

Pitchfork, I’m gonna tell you right now like my father told me back then: No one likes you, they just tolerate you. Like, who in hell lumps Hall & Oates in with Kenny fucking G? (Okay, my dad didn't say that last part.)

Now, to my ears anyway, they mostly got it right (or at least right enough). I guess no Sonic Youth fan worth their red pepper flakes is going to flame any list that places Daydream Nation at the peak, and if just one reader sought out Nurse With Wound as a result of a PF endorsement, great. Hope they made their way to Sun City Girls, at some point. 

Fifteen years later, the site was hit by something resembling repentance, and decided to not only redo the ‘80s Albums list, but to expand it by another hundred. Per the editorial preface, the former article “represented a limited editorial stance….its lack of diversity does not represent the voice Pitchfork has become.” In other words: we need to start reflecting the tastes of the modern listener.

Whatever cynicism I may have harbored, the yeses clock in at 61 versus a mere 5 I can’t justify. (I swear I let out some sigh-groan-laugh hybrid when I saw Kate Bush’s Hounds of Love in the top 5. Last list? 93. I get it, she’s influential). The extra room allows for the inclusion of massively-deserving records by Paul McCartney, the B-52s, and MC Lyte, and drowns out whatever grumbles I emitted upon noticing Sonic Youth’s Sister had been left by the roadside. 

No grumbles over Daydream Nation's bump back; who didn't see that coming? Celebrity creates clicks, and it's a real pop-averse soul to bristle at Purple Rain and Thriller. It's not like Pitchfork picked Lovesexy and Bad, okay? I’ve read some consternation over the high placements of Control and Criminal Minded; why these records the missed initial list is a more puzzling question to me. There’s more rap and metal representation, although the choices are far from daring. Again, Pitchfork is now officially in the business of determining importance and cementing legacy. So get your Celtic Frost outta here.

(Some pretty hilarious plummets: Skylarking fell 118 slots and Second Edition fell 85. Not very amused by the 77-number nosedive for motherfucking Rio, one of the premier every-song-is-a-single album in pop history.)

1990s. Oh the 1990s. I maintain you can discern the amount of salt in a writer’s water by how they judge the music of the 1990s. A multitude of genres burst from the cocoon: electronic music, alternative rock, urban admixtures. It’s therefore pretty easy to fill predetermined slots with important albums. It’s also easy, for listeners like me anyway, people who lived through it, to fill those slots with albums that we happen to think are just goddamn great. PF’s first Nineties Albums list appeared in 1999, and above all it is marked by the editor’s blatant instructions to voters that they not fret over cursory acknowledgments for “the most important, best, or most inifluential recordings” and instead vouch for their favorite albums—“the ones they most enjoyed listening to.” How novel! And ‘zine-y. Doomed to fail, really. 

Two Fugazi records don’t make the Greatest list; Repeater will, or maybe In On the Kill Taker…but not both. Writers love Tom Waits to the point of self-loathing, so he’s right behind Loveless for the top spot. When it’s time to present a historical record, however, it’s difficult to narrow his influence down to just the one, so better to just make a pick and stick it near the back. 

If you really want to know the distinction between a favorite list and a greatest list though, behold, at no. 17, Walt Mink. A band remembered nowadays, if at all, as Joey Waronker’s first band. Polvo’s on there. Dirty is on here, a rare critical acknowledgment that SY actually made more than one great record for a major label. My favorite Stereolab album and my favorite Built To Spill are here, which will simply not happen if the editor asks for the “best.”

It didn’t take long for the editor to realize credibility is currency, and in 2003, PF indeed presented the Best Albums of the 1990s. Come on, guys, we're not totally insufferable!

“Our perceptions of the decade are different now, our personal tastes have expanded, our knowledge of the music deepened….”

As in, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea is suddenly top 5. In Utero is suddenly top 15. The Soft Bulletin, which no one vouched for on the previous list of albums 1990s they liked to listen to, is now the third-best album of the 1990s. The great Pavement battle starts here, as well.

Unfortunate casualties include: Archers of Loaf, Sebadoh, Sunny Day Real Estate, Sleater-Kinney, Cat Power, Polvo, Shellac and Mobb Deep. Three albums ranked in the top 20 dropped completely off, and I’m positive brand self-consciousness is as culpable as individual exploration.

The third go-round in 2022 didn’t hurt as much. Actually, I only blew one raspberry reading 100-51. Dig Me Out is back, Bratmobile’s in the house. This recent critical trend of placing Live Through This over Nevermind is weird; a case of holding a band’s fanbase against them?

Once the Internet caught wind of Pitchfork’s plan for this update, yak soon centered around which previously feted act would suffer the torment of noxious rejection. Pavement were a popular choice, and sure enough, their once-sacrosanct debut plunged from 5 to 70. Other mystifying choices: The Low End Theory the top-ranked Tribe while Midnight Marauders clings on by the fingernails (almost makes me wish Jive Records hadn’t interfered with Low End)…RKO off the top rope, it’s The Velvet Rope, a very good offering from Janet Jackson…no Pantera, despite a wealth of options, not to mention if we’re talking importance, a record as heavy as Far Beyond Driven hitting the number one albums spot shook the industry.

Oh well, Loveless is back on top, baby!

New century, new problems. The rise of Napster and the fall of the album means Pitchfork must reach heights of batshitness heretofore undreamed. PF’s review of Kid A cements the site’s reputation as wackacocka wanna-bes. When the staff looks back on the 2000s, they find much of value in the White Stripes, Wilco and goddamn Panda Bear. Albums such as One Beat and You Are Free can’t even crack the top 70 and 120, respectively.

Judging the 2010s had to be bittersweet. With the increased prominence of streaming platforms, less listeners sought out Pitchfork for guidance. Algorhithms did the dirty work for them. Now, concerted conciliation is the name of the game for sites like PF, which means most of the great rock music, the tunes which would have been celebrated in PF’s heyday, the artists which they would have gleefully galvanized, get the shaft (seriously, no love for White Lung?) Instead, it’s lotsa love for Tame Impala, a racket-gang who at their most tolerable sound like Kevin Shields in the throes of apoxia.


Tomorrow…Wrapping up the albums lists with a mingle-mangle of opinions!

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 3: The Scion of the Penthouse Empire Is Here To Save Us All)

By the 1980s, Rolling Stone had entrenched itself in the popular consciousness as the rag of the establishment. White faces dominated its covers and its editorial staff. The same disrespect shown to disco and dance musics the prior decade moved on to hip hop. A rival on the newsstands was needed as much as wanted, and in May 1985, a challenger appeared.

More than a mere smart alternative to Rolling Stone, not just the snotty li’l cousin, Spin posited itself as a worldly magazine, the cool-ass uncle. On the cover of issue #1 is Madonna at fair sultriness, next to a promising strip of articles within: U2, Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Fela Kuti, Stryper, Bryan Ferry, Bronski Beat, Sade, Run-DMC, the Replacements, Del Fuego. Issue #2, Jerry Harrison and David Byrne are tasked with balancing the likes of Billy Joel, Nick Rhodes, the Smiths and the entire “Go-Go Underground” while Tina Weymouth and Chris Frantz daydream about holding Byrne’s head into a Port Authority toilet.

What was Rolling Stone putting out? Well, the May 9th issue boasts Madonna also, alongside Rosanna Arquette (Their New Movie’s Hot). If you’re in the mood for Hunter S. Thompson on Saigon, Martin Short, Tom Wolfe, and the scourge of ticket scalping, please, come right in. In the mood for music? Sorry, you’ll have to wait two weeks, when Phil Collins’ll be derping it up. Smart choice, guys, I mean who wants to see look at Sade anyway? The first June issue gives Julian Lennon his sunshine, which, hey, the kid was ubiquitous at the time. Two weeks later, it’s David Letterman on the cover, an Eric Clapton interview and “The Go-Go Craze.”

Yep. Spin beat Rolling Stone to Go-Go.

I find it annoying as a blogger, but refreshing as a reader, that Spin has thus far eschewed a trademark list such as the “500 Greatest Albums.” Refreshing because, as hard as RS ignores most jazz, metal and country in these overviews, Spin goes even harder. Annoying, because it means the mag’s narrative arc is a bit harder to chart. I can look at Rolling Stone and see how, in a sense, they’ve evolved from the hard-line old-school “greatest generation” musical mindset. It’s not about disavowing the pioneers, it’s about expanding the space. It’s not about bemoaning the alleged death of a sound, it’s about appreciating the reform of said sound.

With Spin, I dunno. Early on, their lists were irreverent. “Twenty Greatest Punk Songs Ever,” “The 100 Most Representive Funk Songs,” “Alt-Rock’s 42 Greatest Novelty Hits.” They had no agenda. Nearly forty years later, I'm unsure as to whether that's still the case. As it is, I’m looking over a mere five albums lists.

The “25 Greatest Albums of All-Time” from 1989 is a masterful snapshot of exactly what Spin was at that moment in time. Sex Machine rules the roost, followed by Swordfishtrombone and Blonde on Blonde. The soulful black guy the writers wanted to be followed by the homely white poets the writers wanted to be. I can practically smell the rotisserie chicken being wolfed down in the writer’s room. This is less a list of the actual 25 greatest albums ever, and more the 25 greatest albums from the artists they most wanted to emulate. 

Spin came of age in the 1990s, as their early support of college/indie rock eased them into the grunge phenomenon. (Contrast with RS, who five months before the release of Nevermind published their “New Faces 1991 issue” featuring Charlatans U.K., De La Soul, Chris Isaak and the guitarist from Extreme.) Their “Top 90 Albums of the ‘90s” is ergo the only list they should ever concern themselves with updating, if only to see how drastically it changes with each successive generation.

Lamentably, the first is still the only. An intriguing little read, a ranking neither top-notch nor bottom-rung, the equivalent of a two-mile walk on a sweltering summer morning—I really didn’t enjoy it at first, but by the end, I was glad for the journey.

Lessee…Cibo Matto were an industry plant before I knew what an industry plant was…I’d like to think RJD2’s career has obliterated the need for any Fatboy Slim nostalgia. Putting notorious Snoopy Sno-Cone Machine hater Kristen Hersh above Raekwon is both ridiculously honest and honestly ridiculous, whereas I don’t believe the inclusion of Sublime’s self-titled monstrosity is anything deeper than an exaggerated nod to the continued popularity of the band’s logo. Glad to see Ten in the top half, given the recent critical trend of Pearl Jam un-appreciation, and fuck yes, There’s Nothing Wrong With Love is my favorite Built To Spill album. Not bad, not bad. I do take umbrage with Spin's placement of Illmatic at absolutely fucking nowhere, but hey, it was 1999, so the ether had not yet burned Jay-Z's soul.

In 2005, to celebrate the magazine’s first twenty years, Spin put together the “100 Greatest Albums 1985-2005.” Despite my reservations at the time, the OK Computer love’s held up well (better than the love for The Smiths, anyway). I have no qualms with Sign o’ the Times in the top 10 for several reasons, not the least of which is my amusement at the long-standing struggle for critics and listeners alike to consent on a “best Prince album.” (Sign, Purple Rain and 1999 each have ten people ready and willing to fight for it at any time, in any place.) Conversely, I’m by now resigned to certain narratives; namely, Daydream Nation is the sword in the stone and a worthy Pendragon has not, does not, will not exist. (The only mystery lies in whether Goo or Sister rocks the ruby-encrusted crown.)

Ten years on, how about the 300 best albums of the past thirty years? Silly; if you’re going to rank that many fucking albums, why limit yourself so relatively severely? On one paw, doing so frees you of particular pressures and blesses your list with a fresh varnish. On the other paw, you’re still allowing the likes of Achtung Baby and Different Class to play on the same grounds with Loveless and Dig Me Out. Also, see here, they’ve picked the wrong Built To Spill album! Fishscale over Liquid Swords? Everyone who's ever worked for Spin magazine is to actual Hell!

Sigh.

I’ll end on the best of the 2010s and guess what, it’s butt. For every Courtney Barnett and Best Coast, there’s a DaBaby and Paramore. 

Grunt.

Rather than demean the music made during the decade, I’ll fix the spotlight of shame where it belongs: on the faux-adventurous, image-plagued, hyper-self-aware people responsible for these articles. Spin would do well to follow this motto re: lists: Go '90s or Go Home.

Tomorrow...my, how the turntables turn....

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 2: History Is Written By the Wenner)

Rolling Stone began life in November 1967 as a monthly print mag. In less than a decade, it earned a reputation as the cultural rag all the cool kids read, a flipbook concerned with political reporting as with covering the modern music scene. Appearing on the cover of the Rolling Stone meant you’d made it. Writing the right article, the right review, could advance your career in a way few other magazines of the time could promise.

Over time, RS's reputation morphed into a jowly, stiff-shouldered creature: rockism incarnate. Old white dudes stuck in what they considered the halcyon days of rock ’n’ roll (a time period perhaps not coincidentally matching up with the halcyon days of Rolling Stone itself). Ferocious repulsion is a common response to many of the lists the mag’s unleashed over the decades; Best Guitarists is always a fun one. But no list, absolutely no list, boils the blood and roils the guts like Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time.

First appearing in 2003, with updates in 2012, 2020, and 2023, it is the gold standard others rush to emulate. Not for its quality or accuracy, necessarily, but for its significance. You may not have bought an issue in your life, or gladly clicked a link to the website, but you understand the meaning of Rolling Stone, comprehend that once you tally up the likes and lumps, a truth remains: Rolling Stone is a recognizable, somehow-still-semi-respectable brand. It took until this year, when our mercurial overlords out West took time off from perfecting a watch that can tell time, blood pressure, and your date of death, for serious competition in the “reputable name shapes narrative” stakes to appear on the cultural landscape.

And I will be getting to Apple’s records. But not before looking back at exactly what Rolling Stone’s lists hath wrought upon the world.

On average, these 500 Greatest Albums lists are one-fifth “yay,” one-fifth nay,” and three-fifths “okay.” Calling anything “great” for the purposes of a list such as this is conferring upon it quality and influence. Albums featured therein impacted music in an inarguably meaningful way. They are, if not liked, then respected. They are, if not popular, at least known via cultural osmosis. Given the percentage of people I come across who are unable and/or unwilling to differentiate between their “favorite” album and the “best” album they’ve heard, it’s no shock that these curated lists inspire more rants than raves.

Per the site, over three hundred artists, producers, critics, and “industry figures” were consulted to create the most recent list. Ostensibly, diversity of opinion results in diversity of list. Which is certainly true, but as I listen to as much different music as circumstances allow, it doesn't change my feelings on the lists in the main. On average, the choices that I find personally disagreeable outnumber the ones I find agreeable, but not by much: 99 to 81, actually. 

(The concerted effort to expand representation reveals the rub with ranked lists. I doubt all of the folks perturbed by the presence of Beyonce, Taylor, Kendrick, et. al would be so vociferous in their displeasure if those artists weren’t placed ahead of Dylan, Bruce, and the Stones. It’s much easier on the soul to make room than it is to be surpassed.)

Recency bias is a bad thing when it benefits artists I don’t care for. The 1950s and 1960s combine for 80 entries; the ‘70s, 155; 71 for the ‘80s; 101 for the ‘90s; the oughts, 51; the 2010s, 42. Every decade from the Eighties on back has seen a hit in representation since the 2003 list, which makes sense. The Nineties, however, went from 61 to 101, which only tells me RS wasn’t really paying attention.

From 2003 to 2023, only What’s Going On? and Pet Sounds appear in both top 10s. Sgt. Pepper’s went from top spot to 24, all of a sudden the third best Beatles album. (Fine by me; RS correctly rates Abbey Road fifth overall.) The critical reevaluation of Sgt. Pepper’s is book-worthy, forget blog-worthy, journeying as it has from “justly highly rated” to “slightly overrated” to “somehow underrated” to now “properly rated.”

What’s Going On? didn’t have far to reach the top; it started out sixth-greatest twenty years prior. Why, exactly, Songs In the Key of Life needed so long to reach the top 10 is a puzzler. Blue isn’t my personal Joni fave, but I’d be a goddamn idiot to deny its importance. Trout Mask Replica is also quite vital, yet it went from #60 to not mentioned at all. Weird, given the increased popularity of hallucinogens in this country over the past few years.

Some of the falls fill me with sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, though. Sex Pistols from 41 to 80? Tell me more! Forever Changes no longer 40, now 180? You gotta let me sit down! Only two Smiths albums? Ooh, still too many, but an encouraging trend! U2 only two albums on the list, wow, tell me Jann Wenner ain’t shit without telling me Jann Wenner ain’t shit!

“The older artists are getting shafted!” goes the cry. Well…the older guys, sure. Aretha Franklin and Joni Mitchell both doubled their presence on the list. What’s the big deal, the Beatles still have nine albums and Elton John going from six records to two is fine, because he’s essentially a singles artist. Throw Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on there, that’s solid. And seriously, the Who did not need seven albums on the original list.

The biggest problems with the RS 500 remain: under-representation of jazz, metal, and country music; and the inclusion of greatest hits albums. Complete bullshit cop-out. If that’s the criteria, why aren’t the Red and Blue Albums numbers one and two?

Okay, so that’s what genre-specific lists are for. Rolling Stone does those as well, though I’m kinda wishing they’d not.

2017 saw the 100 Greatest Metal Albums of All-Time, which after the top 30 is an incomplete shit-show. Korn good, Deftones good, but not metal. Evanescence metal, but not good. Twisted Sister rocked for like a month. Marilyn Manson is a mistake. The list also has a fondness for picking the wrong album for the right artist. As the Palaces Burn is cool; Wrath will go down as Lamb of God's legacy record. Why go for copper with Louder Than Love when the iron Badmotorfinger is right there? Choosing Bulldog over Houdini  Just a mess. And don’t get me started on Motley Crue having two albums in the top 50. (Well, do, but in person and when you’re sure I’ve had a couple drinks.)

Can’t argue with Iron Maiden or Dio. My fave Slayer doesn’t make it, but my fave Slayer didn’t influence the genre as massively as some others. My fave Slayer? Oh, just you wait. I do like …And Justice For All making the top 20. Metallica will never be that fascinating again. Number one is Paranoid, which can only be replaced with any other Black Sabbath album.

Five years later, the Stone tried their hand at country and hip-hop. The country one is better than the metal one, as it waits until no. 50 to take a turn for the crappy. The top four is a great place to start if you’ve never given the genre a go.

The hip-hop list is the comedy and tragedy masks melted down into word form. Of the 200 records, I wholeheartedly agree with 70 being on and wholeheadedly disagree with 87 of them. That leaves only 43 albums that I either acknowledged as worthy while not feeling gung-ho on either way or just outright disliked, which is the sign of a list compiled by people who have a cursory understanding of the genre upon which they speak. These are the people who think the “G” in Kool G Rap stands for “gangsta.” The people who think Redman is a member of Wu-Tang Clan. The people who would be fawning over Nonphixion if they’d put out The Future Is Now on Matador.

Illmatic at 24 is tolerable, but then there’s Li’l Kim, Future and Cardi B in the top 20—of all-time!—and I’m supposed to respect this list? Chance the Rapper means more than Pete Rock, apparently. And fine, Chief Keef is the godfather of drill rap, and he’s ‘bout that life, but that doesn’t mean his record belongs in the top 40.

I won’t even bitch about Can Ox at 165. At this stage I’m grateful records of that quality are still being mentioned.

Now, the top 5 is fine. Stankonia and Blueprint show a fealty to movement over music—but I’d expect nothing less from the magazine that called side two of Abbey Road “a disaster” in their initial review. Miss E…So Addictive in the top 10 is absurd, though. I love Missy, and she deserves every flower in the shop, but a swing and a miss here.

I’ll wrap this up with a gander at Rolling Stone’s “Best of the Decade” lists, of which they’ve only done four.

Algor mortis had barely begun when Jann’s gang revealed their best of the 1980s, a list in love with all the right names. London Calling number one, sure, revolution and snot and all the stuff the magazine claimed to be but never could be. Purple Rain runner-up, obviously. Murmur at only 8 is mildly shocking given the inflexible tent-pole they had for R.E.M. all the way up through Automatic For the People. Oh look, it’s Daydream Nation at 45. They put it on their Top 500 too. They always will. It’s the only important Sonic Youth record ever, or did you not know that?

No Devo, no Rio, no Reign In Blood, no Dwight Yoakam. If you’re wondering who loved those Pete Townshend, Neville Brothers and Don Henley albums, look no further. One XTC, and it’s Skylarking. Let’s Dance at 83, far too low. Steel Wheels by the Stones at 95 and Was (Not Was) at 99...Jesus, this list is so trash.

The 1990s list is another fuck-me fest. Of the 100 albums named, I found 22 worthy and 20 wasted. My music tastes have evolved over time, of course, but I can’t recall a time I thought, Okay, I’m done listening to this DJ Shadow record, time to put on some U2. (Although don’t be surprised is said sentence, or some variation, appears on Jann's headstone.) Some of the choices are galling: Bridges to Babylon? Sublime? I can at least give RS credit for acknowledging Superunknown and Ten. (The longer Pearl Jam goes, the less credit their music is given. You want a hot take, here’s a hot take: Vitalogy is better than In Utero.)

The 2000s are more interesting musically than the RS list insists. To wit: Kid A top spot, Is This It next, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot bronze. Lots of better rock being made, I assure you. Built to Spill, Erase Errata, Magik Markers. It’s nice to see The Woods, even if it is the least of Sleater-Kinney’s output of the decade. I’ll take it forwards and backwards over whatever blandness U2 threw into the stew. Wait, there’s U2 here? Oh, my friend, there are three U2 albums here. 2 Dylan’s in the top 15, 2 Springsteen in the top 25.

The 2010s list is slightly more palatable, thanks to the likes of Beyonce, Taylor Swift and Kendrick Lamar cancelling out the aural terrors foisted upon me by Billie Eilish, Lana Del Ray and Drake. I may quibble with To Pimp A Butterfly over Good Kid, m.a.a.d City, but I GET IT, Good Kid is just a banger and TPAB has levels. It's not about me, it's about the world around me, and the world around me wants that politically-charged goodness right now.

Here is where I state my umbrage at Kanye West’s dominance of this list. For future posts concerning the 2010’s, remember the preceding sentence, for I feel not like typing it again.



Tomorrow: A new challenger appears! And doesn’t put up much a fight, really!

The Top Favorite Best Greatest Blog of All-Time (Pt. 1: What's the Big Idea?)

 Lists. Huh. Good god, y’all.

Best, favorite, greatest. Three different words, three different meanings. Keen as the world’s become on calling a slingshot a pistol, “best” indicates “excellence,” “favorite” indicates “preference,” and “greatest” indicates “importance.” On lists of best guitarists, it makes sense Yngwie Malmsteen would rate consistently higher than J Mascis. On lists of favorite guitarists, you’re more likely to see Kurt Cobain than Jeff Beck. On lists of greatest guitarists, Jimi Hendrix is a given, but Steve Howe is not.

Recently, Apple Music stirred up a storm o’ shit via their 100 Best Albums of All-Time, released over a period of ten days to maximize social media impact. Said tempest comprised the customary kibbles ’n’ bits: outrage, cynicism, confusion, relief. The prominent issue with lists presented by cultural tastemakers—be they magazines, websites, sports leagues or the techno-monolith determined to fully automatize life on Earth before the dawn of the 22nd century—is the assumption of authority. Many an ego has trembled under either the blast of validation or the sting of repudiation felt upon perusing a curated list. What gives Apple the right? Where’s Rolling Stone get off? Who died and left Pitchfork their office?

It is human nature to resent authority on a macro level, while also craving it on a micro level. Hence the controversy aroused by any list which purports to present the “Best” or “Greatest” of anything. Making such lists requires supreme cognitive dissonance, since the stipulations of creation are concerned more with the narrative accepted by the world at large than one critic’s personal biases. The Beatles may not land a spot anywhere on your personal top 50 favorite albums, but failing to include even a single Fab Four record on any “Best of” or “Greatest Ever” list borders on childishness, instability, ignorance and good ol’ contrarian assholery.

And here, then, is where I stand in all four states. 

                                                                                ****

At first, I’d decided to tackle just the Apple list. Newest rawest and all. Give my opinions, determine exactly how out of touch I am. In talks with chums, though, other music lists came up—ones from Rolling Stone and Pitchfork specifically, those unserious critiques that nevertheless drive clicks off cliffs. (While those indeed dominate my attention here, I tackled a few more that defied resistance.) In short order, the project matured, and one multiplied to forty-four.

I’ll stop short of listing the fucking lists from best to worst; rather, I’ll be looking at the lists released by publication. Here's what you can expect.

Albums:
Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2003, 2012, 2020, 2023) 

NME 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2013) 

Apple Music 100 Best Albums of All-Time (2024)

Rolling Stone 200 Greatest Hip Hop Albums of All-Time (2022)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 1980s (1989)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 1990s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 2000s (2011)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Albums of the 2010s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Country Albums of All-Time (2022)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Metal Albums of All-Time (2017)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 1960s (2017)

Pitchfork 100 Best Albums of the 1970s (2004)

Pitchfork Top 100 Albums of the 1980s (2002)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 1980s (2018)

Pitchfork Top 100 Favorite Albums of the 1990s (1999)

Pitchfork 150 Best Albums of the 1990s (2003)

Pitchfork 150 Best Albums of the 1990s (2022)

Pitchfork 200 Best Albums of the 2000s (2009)

Pitchfork 210 Best Albums of the 2010s (2019)

NME 500 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2013)

Spin 25 Greatest Albums of All-Time (1989)

Spin 90 Greatest Albums of the 90s (1999)

Spin 100 Greatest Albums 1985-2005 (2005)

Spin 300 Best Albums of the Past 30 Years (2015)

Spin 101 Best Albums of the 2010s (2020)

Paste 300 Greatest Albums of All-Time (2024)

Songs:
Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2004)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2010)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2021)

Rolling Stone 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2024)

NME 500 Greatest Songs of All-Time (2014)

Rolling Stone 50 Best Songs of the 1980s (2023)

Rolling Stone 50 Best Songs of the 1990s (2017)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Songs of the 2000s (2011)

Rolling Stone 100 Best Songs of the 2010s (2019)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Country Songs of All-Time (2024)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Hip Hop Songs of All-Time (2016)

Rolling Stone 100 Greatest Heavy Metal Songs of All-Time (2023)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1960s (2006)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1970s (2016)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 1980s (2015)

Pitchfork Top 200 Tracks of the 1990s (2010)

Pitchfork 250 Best Songs of the 1990s (2022)

Pitchfork Top 500 Tracks of the 2000s (2009)

Pitchfork 200 Best Songs of the 2010s (2019)

Please note, Paste’s list hit the scene the very same day I was preparing this post for publication. Because of fucking course Paste’s list hit the scene the very same day I was preparing this post for publication.

Lemonade Sandwich

DARK MATTER
4/19/2024

I get the skepticism when a long-running band gets the hype train for their newest album rolling by proclaiming it their “best work.” Who are they trying to kid/convince/fool? “The older, the better” works for wine, but not for music.

Or so the wisdom goes.

“Scared Of Fear”--The sound of “lifelong creative confidantes and brothers in one room” rocking it inside out under the auspices of a producer young enough to be the son of any one band member is, simply, anthemic melancholia. And the questions, thankfully (reassuringly?), flow still.

“React, Respond”—Rubber smacks wood with maniacal glee. My favorite runners are also big bouncers.

“Wreckage”—A hit between 1997-2007, nowadays space junk in the sonic galaxy.

“Dark Matter”—Unlike the previous tune, a gem of purposeful lethargy, “Dark Matter” boasts all the slick with none of the stick.

“Won’t Tell”—Mid-tempo excuse for Eddie to show and prove. But not tell. See the title?

“Upper Hand”—Lower tier, though.

“Waiting For Stevie”—Wonder? Ray Vaughan? There’s multiple references to a “her,” ah, so then it’s Nicks! Will you ever win, indeed. After a streak of moody, well-meaning mediocrity, we are back like Edge at the Royal Rumble. Starts with the (quite good) chorus and by the end, hopefully you understand that Matt Cameron is the real MVP.

“Running”—The shortest track here at 2:19, “Running” is a jam handy if you’re keen on skateboarding atop a motorcycle.

“Something Special”—Hand up, chin up! Because yes, we fuck up, we fall down, sometimes we are even held down, but staying down is for the dead and the dead only.

“Got To Give”—Classic rockin’ ode to resilience, and the burnt-off cynicism of youth.

“Setting Sun”—Not as catchy as an a.m. birdsong, but about as memorable. So glad PJ realized every act is not built to riot.

Offering none of Gigaton’s experimentation doesn’t exactly place Dark Matter in the pantheon with Ten and Vs, and besides I liked Gigaton. This is Pearl Jam content to rock, but not content in the act. And frankly, that’s refreshing.

Snoopy Presents: Welcome Home, Franklin

 

AIRDATE: 2/16/24

STORY: Franklin Armstrong is a kid without a home. He's the sole child in a military family, and as such, lacks the emotional ballasts that other children may take for granted. Landing in Peanutsville, USA, he bucks up and explores the neighborhood, a sweet young boy intent on making the best of yet another less-than ideal situation.  10

MUSIC: With no disrespect intended to Jeff Morrow's contributions, the inclusion of songs by Billy Preston, John Coltrane and Chuck Berry (intended to evoke the late Sixties period when Franklin joined the strip) is more than enough to warrant a 10. Not in the tradition of Peanuts to depend on popular tuneage, certainly, but in this case the exception rules.

ANIMATION: Nothing groundbreaking. Smart shading, lovely coloring, and some tasty lookin' slices of pizza. 9

VOICES: Everyone delivers. Fittingly, top honors go to Caleb Bellavance as the boy of the hour.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

--That Franklin feels utterly lost until he meets Charlie Brown says it all. They bond over baseball, music, and soap box derby racers. It's nice to enjoy some modern media that doesn't feel compelled to dilute its sweet nature with misguided spoonfuls of self-awareness.

--Helping the Schulz family and Scott Montgomery on the script is Robb Armstrong. At just three years old, Armstrong told his mother he'd grow up to be a cartoonist. At age six, he along with millions of other readers worldwide, witnessed the desegregation of Peanuts. 

Twenty-one years later, Armstrong saw the syndication of his own strip. Still going strong, Jump Start gave readers a glimpse into a side of black America Armstrong saw represented nowhere else: the loving, hard-working, middle-class family. His work caught the eye of Charles Schulz himself, and the two men struck up a friendship that lasted until Sparky's passing. 

The dedicated student dreams of impressing their teacher, and so it went for Robb Armstrong one day in the early 1990s, when Schulz called him up with a request. A new Peanuts special was in the works, and Franklin needed a last name. "Could I name him Franklin Armstrong?" Although this last name appeared only in You're In the Super Bowl, Charlie Brown, never in the strips, it can be securely stated that a last name suggested by Schulz himself, and with such a personal meaning, it is indeed canon.

A BAD PEACE

--"Pizza? Of course! Who doesn't like pizza?" I'll tell you who doesn't like pizza, Franklin--losers. Or people with allergies, who are also losers, but losers I feel sympathy for. 

--The fourth-wall break near the start of the show would work with no other character.

--This isn't some rote animation of original strips, though. The warm vibes of Welcome Home, Franklin cannot abide this energy:

--Count me among those tickled by the "retconning" of A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Unnecessary, sure, but what grade of jackaninny is offended by a scene in a children's TV program made with the express intent of promoting kindness and comradery?

SCORE

Much like Monie Love listening to Dilla beats, I get "the feel good" watching Welcome Home, Franklin. Back-to-back smash hits from the Apple era. 10

In Here, In Here! or, Back To The Well For Some Bittersweet Water

Influence.

It’s easier than ever for a person or a collective to impose influence; harder than ever to avoid influence. Well, alongside great wealth get a gander at great responsibility. I hope, for their sake, that the hot Tik Tok dimwit of the minute is holding themselves satisfactorily accountable. My doubts are seeds dropped out of gnarled hands onto well-tilled earth, doused with water from a hot length of hose….yet, my pantry is still stocked in case of surprise molding.

Industry.

Food, fashion. Health, travel. Music, movies, games and dogs. Thirteen Banana Bread Recipes That Contain Invaluable Life Hacks. Twenty Fun Things To Pair With a Wet Skirt. Smash Diabetes On a Budget. 70 Songs That Prove Why The 70s Were The Actual Best Decade For Music. Ten Dream Vacations For Americans Too Weird To Get a Passport.

I’m proud to say that I did not wonder how my all-time fave band might fare in the age of bedroom critique, when the writers compete with talkers whose own popularity sometimes dwarfs that of the artists whose work they are reviewing, of my own accord. It was a hypothetical thrust upon me, and for a while I let it have its way. Then I realized: I’m better than this. Do I really care, how Anthony Fantano would score Daydream Nation or Goo? Do I really care, whether or not “Youth Against Fascism” could catch fire with the politically-inclined mononymous prodigies so adored by the actual youth?

No. No.

Instead.

I turn, once more, to the music. Not just of Sonic Youth, but of those acts, born this century, who’ve twisted to SY for inspiration. Not simply the longevity or the advocacy, but the music itself. Like guys, I’m glad you clocked in thirty years by the amps, it’s super how you traveled Oz and decided to hang with the Munchkins while your flannel-flyin’ friends galloped forward, but what about them tunes? Kids these days don’t care about Forced Exposure.

I’m thinking of women who record under brilliant pseudonyms. Lindsay Jordan, Katie Crutchfield, Sophie Allison. Snail Mail, Waxahatchee, Soccer Mommy. I’m thinking of Horsegirl, three teenagers in Chicago bonding over their fascination with a bygone era, the era of indie record labels, fanzines, “scenes,” landline phones, record stores. The era in which SY reigned supreme. The era in which, for a lot of folks, the band reached its artistic pinnacle. 

You know how far aback it threw me when Snail Mail proclaimed an affection for Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star in an interview? When she expressed her fondness for the “emotionally vulnerable Sonic Youth”?  To say nothing of the clear lifts from 2006’s “Incinerate” in two of her own best songs.  Sonic Nurse, at least, garnered praise from critics and fans distressed by the two low-energy offerings preceding, so I wasn’t bowled over by Soccer Mommy pulling the vinyl from her Amoeba bag. And Horsegirl getting two members of SY to play on their album? Of course, why wouldn’t they, if you’re going to live the dream then live the fucking dream. Don’t just wear shirts and hope the producer gets the hint.

Indie.

Independent. Under-heard, under-seen, under-paid. Not as much, not as long. Before the majors, before the money. The “salad days,” except the lettuce is greasy, the tomatoes are leaky, and apparent shredded cheese is actual dead skin. Those days when the tour itinerary included such exotic, never-again-visited locales as Charlottesville, VA, Tuscaloosa, AL and the entire FL. This version of the band is the one recalled most fondly, not merely for their sonic fearlessness but for their willingness to champion creators they believed in. Not just bands, but visual artists and writers. (Oh, the writers! You could make a tidy library out of SY book recommendations dropped over thirty years worth of interviews.) It’s arguable no group had a larger influence on America’s underground music scene, three dudes and one girl in a band reinventing the guitar and alienating the “right people” in the process. SY stepped off stage without a single RIAA certification to their name (making them unique among the acts featured in the "Homerpalooza" episode of The Simpsons), and I am not even attempting hyperbole when I tell you that the list of hit singles released by opportunistic Memphis DJs is longer than the list of hit singles released by Sonic Youth.

The most successful of their proteges, Nirvana, stood out among their peers in ways unconnected to units shifted. Kurt Cobain “Louie Louie”’d the shit outta his lyrics because the likes of “Never met a wise man/if so it’s a woman” and “Broken hymen of your Highness” are not meant to compete with the music. They are meant to antagonize the music, irritate the listener into thought, and you can’t do that while expecting commercial success. So you mumble. You slur. You die. You live forever.

Which isn’t saying any of the aforementioned active artists are comparable to Nirvana or their linchpin. Nor are they akin to the bands who slogged it out alongside the Youth in the van days. These aren’t sloppy, sneery contrarians working through their Mommy issues. Yes, you’ll hear muffled vocals and layers of distortion, but you’ll always catch the pretty confusion stirred up most artfully by purveyors of folk-country and drowsy pop. There is imagination equal to passion; there is heartbreak equal to lust; there is joy equal to pain; there is serenity equal to chaos.

In other words, there is roll equal to rock.

Such is the result, when someone listens to Sonic Youth and end up moved more by "Disconnection Notice" and "Dude Ranch Nurse" than "Silver Rocket" or "100%." Inconceivable! Except. (I kinda can’t get over Snail Mail’s fandom an album generally regarded as an under-baked oddball in the discography, a lightweight entry crammed between the band’s failed commercial fling and their triumphant return to noise rock glory.)

I was there, so I tell you here. Murray Street on, a casually-referential phase of their musical life where they prioritized melody over maelstrom. SY albums were no longer must-listens, to the point where the likes of the Village Voice felt comfy imploring one of NYC’s most formidable racket-gangs to hang up the pedals.

The quality of the music was, of course, a matter of opinion, but the quality of the band itself wasn’t. Sonic Youth were cooler in terms of temperature, and colder in terms of cultural impact. The group did not lose their edge so much as they accidentally-on-purpose left it in a winter wheat field. I never stopped loving them, even when Rather Ripped insisted on maddening inconsistency. I hoped, not exactly fervently, that these latterly releases would receive their due bouquets. 

And so they have.

Interestingly. 

Rock doesn’t matter as much anymore. Hip hop, pop, country, all these genres have surpassed rock as commercial and cultural forces. Arguably, rock peaked in 1994, when guitar music was so hot the mainstream media even threw the broads a bone, pretending to care about the Riot Grrl movement and proclaiming it “The Year of Women In Rock.” The likes of Hole, Veruca Salt, and the Breeders sold well, but never reached the multi-platinum heights of the boys (fuck’s sake, Live’s Throwing Cooper moved eight million units!). So yeah, join in the party, but it's our house, ladies. 

The last fifteen or so years has seen the so-called "death of rock and roll." Hip hop, pop and country rule the charts, and well, why not? Where are the angry young men, strapped up and howling? Rock is moribund, washed. That this dire proclamation comes as the genre's best offerings are being made by women is telling. Silly me, I thought that those Dave Marsh-tested, Jann Wenner-approved masters no longer dominating indicated a welcome shift. And it does. But damn do some people not like to share. 

In conclusion.

Bear it or bust it, but I ain’t lyin’: the girls are right, and the guys can’t deal. The girls were right about the Beatles, they were right about Duran Duran, and by the bow of Artemis, they are right about the “irrelevant” period of Sonic Youth. It mattered. It is worth its weight in revelation. It can be heard in some of the best music being made today.