Pop songs and thoughts about them from the second half of 2019. Combined with #18, this makes a pretty good surrogate for my year-end list, though not all the songs are from 2019.

Listen on Spotify if you must, but be warned that one of the best songs of the year is not on there.

Jonas Brothers — “Sucker” (2019)
It’s become a tradition that each year during our family beach vacation, I ask my sister and her husband for their opinions on “the song of the summer.” Nancy and Joe are two of the few adults I know who have great taste and are still actively engaged with hit music. And because they are close in age to me, they share the sensibilities of our generation. The happy result is that they’re able to recommend music that is currently popular, while remaining recognizable to me as music. One of this year’s candidates was “Sucker,” along the entire Jonas Brothers’ album Happiness Begins. I was pleasantly surprised by the overall quality of this record, and “Sucker” in particular has a lot going for it: hooks galore, whistling, ridiculous lyrics about dancing on top of cars. It’s an obvious rip-off of Portugal. The Man’s “Feel It Still,” but as far as rip-offs go, you could do a lot worse.

illuminati hotties — “Paying Off the Happiness” (2018)
Everything about this is adorable. The name of the band, the name of the album (Kiss Yr Frenemies), the slightly naive vocals, the rhyming of “hoodie” with “rookie mistakes.” It’s almost enough to make you overlook the Millennial darkness about fourth jobs and emotional blackmail. 

Pernice Brothers — “The Devil and the Jinn” (2019)
The Pernice Brothers are one of the few bands about whom I can honestly say I like everything they’ve ever done. Their new album Spread the Feeling is their first in nine years, and hands down my favorite record of 2019. Joe Pernice is an absolute pro, and “The Devil and the Jinn” is everything that mature pop music should be. Pernice and Neko Case are vocal soulmates, the guitar playing is warm and jangly, the production is polished to a high sheen, and how about those lyrics? “Burning cauliflower,” “slithers back to you” “it’s not enough to leave, it’s not enough to be left.” Joe, please continue to piss away your life writing these stupid songs that try to say what love is.

Better Oblivious Community Center — “Dylan Thomas” (2019)
Another excellent duet. I take the lyrics to be about life under the current presidential administration, a topic I’m not generally that keen to engage with in my pop music listening. But Bridgers and Oberst tackle in a way that’s oblique enough that you don’t have to think about it too much unless you want to. Excellent use of metaphors throughout: “a game of four-dimensional chess,” “that ghost is just a kid in a sheet,” “I’m taking a shower at the Bates Motel.”

Bodega — “Shiny New Model” (2019)
Bodega are proof that you can do anything you want as long as you can pull it off. On paper, I should hate them. They’re deliberately arty, they have weird affectations like shouting single words and omitting articles from their phrasing, and their songs tend toward social commentary. Yet I can’t help but really like them. The band’s intrinsic catchiness serves as a counterbalance against pretension, and it doesn’t hurt that they have something real to say. “Shiny New Model” is very clever in its use of dust-gathering ATMs as a metaphor for the way technologies now go from transformative to ubiquitous to antiquated a very short span of time. I was going to say something like, “If people in their 20s are feeling this way, what hope is there for the rest of us?” But then I thought, maybe the very fact that people in their 20s are feeling this way — and making those feelings known — is the hope for the rest of us.

Arctic Monkeys — “Cornerstone” (2009)
I’m not being hyperbolic when I say that Alex Turner is a poet on par with Shakespeare. “Cornerstone” has got to be one of the most exquisitely written songs I’ve ever heard. I particularly love the way that Turner plays with repetition and variation within the structure of the song. Let’s break it down by looking at my favorite verse:

I thought I saw you in the Parrot’s Beak
Each verse starts out roughly the same, but with a different cheesily nautical bar name. It’s a good example of the way repetition is countered by small variations.There’s also some very economical storytelling here. In just a few words, we learn the key facts, which are these: there are some girls in some bars, but these girls are not the girl.

Messing with the smoke alarmIt was too loud for me to hear her speakAnd she had a broken arm
The characters in this song do some pretty strange things. There’s no explanation given, which makes the song intriguing and singular. See also the “I smelt your scent on the seatbelt” line from the middle eight.

It was close, so close that the walls were wet
Brilliant change-up of the “She was close” lines, playing with an alternate meaning.

And she wrote it out in Letraset
It wouldn’t be an Arctic Monkeys song if you didn’t have to Google at least one word. 

No you can’t call me her name
Again, it’s so satisfying the way that Turner changes up these last lines very slightly: “If I could call her your name,” “Can I call you her name?,” “No, you can’t call me her name.” It’s like that little bit of variation gives your mind something to latch onto — and of course it sets up the twist on the last line beautifully.

And let’s not forget that “Cornerstone” is a song, not a poem. It’s got a yearning melody, that sad wah-wah guitar almost like a muted trumpet, and the way that Turner’s voice soars to a new height of emotion on the last verse. All of this makes you want to listen to it many, many times, and without that urge, it would be impossible to truly appreciate the way that Turner can take one of the most common tropes in pop songwriting — “boy loses girl” — and turn out something that is vivid, freewheeling, surprising, finely crafted, and unusual. There’s literally not one phrase or image in this whole song that you’ve ever heard anywhere else. That’s as good a definition of genius as I can come up with.

Alex Cameron — “True Lies” (2017)
I remember watching an episode of Oprah in the late ‘90s where people who were, like, lawyers talked about how they fell for fax scams from alleged Nigerian princes. And lately The New York Times has been covering a lot of scams and the way that people actively miss their scammers, or how the whole thing unravels dramatically and still the victim gets sucked back in a few months later. It’s a fascinating pattern, and “True Lies” really gets the way that scams work because people want to believe in them. It’s also funny and creepy and I’ve listened to it way more times that would be warranted by something that’s just a novelty. There are just so many good pop elements going on: the saxophone, the backing vocals, the play with “beautiful eyes” and “beautiful lies” (not to mention “Nigerian guy”). 

Black Pumas — “Black Moon Rising” (2019)
Nothing more or less than a perfectly executed throwback to the rock-soul hybrids of the early 1970s.

Don Henley — “The Heart of the Matter” (1989)
“Heart of the Matter” was kicking around the edges of my brain for a while as “that one Don Henley song that’s pretty cheesy, but maybe kind of good.” Once I listened to it intentionally, it was off to the races, and I’ve determined that it is in fact quite good. The melody is exceptional — not surprising given that the music was composed by Mike Campbell, a member of Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers who co-wrote hits like “Refugee,” as well as Henley’s “Boys of Summer,” (which is not at all cheesy and clearly great). The obvious target for derision is the song’s production, as exemplified by moment where it is punctuated by Henley crying out “Forgiveness! Forgiveness!” along with some heavy-handed female backing singers. I’ll forgive it, because I think there’s some real sincerity here — I’d guess someone living the life of Don Henley probably knows a thing or two about fractured relationships. 

Look Park — “You Can Come Round If You Want To” (2016)
I know I liked Chris Collingswood’s solo project when it came out in 2016, but I didn’t appreciate how much I loved it until I revisited it this year. I see it as part of a trend in which ‘70s soft rock is finally getting its due, with the likes of Collingswood, Aimiee Mann, and Joe Pernice touting its virtues and emulating its strengths. It’s also nice that these artists can embrace the best of the genre — excellent melodies, gentle acoustic guitars, naturalistic production — while writing lyrics that rely much less heavily on stories about no-strings-attached romantic encounters. “You Can Come Round If You Want To” is absolutely lovely. It’s still got FoW’s snarkiness (“the bird in the tree/won’t shut the hell up”), and the lyrics are actually pretty negative throughout. And yet, it reads to me as a positive song, as if the fact that you can come round — the fact of friendship — makes up for all these little nagging problems of life.

Tacocat — The Joke of Life (2019)
A bit like Bodega, Tacocat manage to combine their catchy pop with a remarkable degree of thoughtfulness. Sometimes they tackle defined issues like privilege or the pressures of the social media era. But the ones I like best are songs like “Joke of Life,” which have a more oblique philosophy. To me, lines like “When the pros and the cons are the same thing/Can’t tell the nightmare from the dream” get at the ambiguity of life, the way that humor and pain are often two sides of the same coin. It’s a difficult thing it explain and an even more impressive thing to get across as a feeling.

Pete and the Pirates — Half Moon Street (2011)
Sometimes I feel an immediate and natural affinity with a particular songwriter, almost like the way that you would hit it off with a person you meet in real life. Whoever is the primary writer for Pete and the Pirates (and their successors, Teleman) is one such writer. (One downside of the decline in physical media is that I cannot find detailed songwriting credits for any of these two bands’ albums anywhere on the internet. I suspect the primary songwriter is lead singer Thomas Sanders.) “Half Moon Street” is just really good power pop, nailing that wistful feeling on both the soft and loud parts.

Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds — “A Dream is All I Need to Get By” (2019)
It must be pretty great to be Noel Gallagher in 2019. All the drama of Oasis is behind you, money’s no worry, and you can just make the kind of pop records that appeal to you and your fans. “A Dream is All I Need to Get By” strikes a perfect mid-point between the usual Gallagher touchstones of wistfulness and exuberance, but with a looser, hip-swaying quality that’s a nice addition to his repertoire. He even gets a little sassy on the “I hope you can walk it like you talk it, son” part. It’s really been a gift for fans to get to enjoy this smaller-scale, more relaxed version of Noel in 2019.

A while back I made a list of my top 90 songs of the ’90s, the immediate result of which was regret at nearly every choice I’d made. But over the long run, the positive outcome has been a list of great ’90s songs that — especially when combined with my husband Josh’s list — has become essential house listening. It’s also been a surprisingly durable and fun conversation topic, with questions like “Hey, was “Two Princes” on your ’90s list?” coming up pretty regularly. So we’ve both had it on our to-do lists to tackle the ’80s, with hopes of similarly good results. (Edit: Here’s the link to Josh’s ’80s list.)

Keeping with the structure of the previous exercise, I’m now down to ’80 songs, which surprisingly wasn’t that big a deal. Combing through my various Spotify playlists and other listening outlets, I’m forced to conclude that the ’80s may be my least favorite decade of what I consider the classic pop era.¹ Perhaps the reason is that ’80s are the decade I came to last. I grew up listening to the music of the ’60s and ’70s, because that’s what my parents liked. And I was a teen in the ’90s, so I experienced many of those songs in real time. But when it comes to the ’80s, I didn’t hear much of this music until I was well into my 20s and 30s, and that just gives it a different feel.

For one thing, there’s very little here that I’d consider non-canon, and that disappoints me. A large percentage of this list is clearly influenced by my extensive watching of VH1 Classic’s 120 Minutes reboot, so while there are a generous handful of hit-hits on the order of “Love Shack,” there are a lot more of the type of classic alternative tracks that recently seem to have become of the soundtrack of every coffee house and hipster gift shop in the U.S. And those songs are good. I like them and, when it comes down to it, they’re what I listen to — that’s why I picked them. But I do like that my ’90s list has a lot more songs on it that I honestly think that no one I know is even familiar with.²

Still, there’s plenty here that’s uniquely me. I ended up loving my top ten, which feels like the perfect representation of my interests. We’ve got XTC’s “Mayor of Simpleton,” which, with its classic Beatlesque pop, has almost nothing to do with popular conceptions of the ’80s sound. I could say that same about “I.G.Y.,” with its out-of-time blend of ’70s disco and ’50s sci-fi dreaming, or The Who’s surprisingly wholesome middle-aged sex ode, “You Better You Bet.” We do have some ’80s exemplars like OMD, Echo, and the Pet Shop Boys (with Dusty!), all of whom back up their more synth-heavy sonics with excellent melody writing. And cannot say how much I adore the juxtaposition of “Ask” and “Free World” in the top five, both featuring Johnny Marr and Kirsty MacColl, two absolute heroes of the ’80s who never get enough credit (with apologies to Morrissey whose solid representation here should speak for itself).

Also well represented in the top ten and throughout my list is the dark horse sub-genre that’s earned and kept my affections these past few years: sophisti-pop. Swing Out Sister’s “Breakout” is a wonderful example of the form and the problems with explaining it. This song came to my attention a few years ago with its unshakeable melody, buoying lyrics, and jaunty horn section. It’s the perfect song for when some cute and confident lady is walking down the street in a romantic comedy. But when I played it on my now-defunct radio show, Josh was like, “I can’t believe you played that song! It’s so adult contemporary.” And yes, sophisti-pop is adult contemporary. It’s slick, it’s got lots of synths and horn and string arrangements, and it’s not edgy in any way. But it’s good adult contemporary. I can’t really explain it beyond that, but take a listen to “Breakout,” “The Look of Love,” “Mary’s Prayer,” “The Promise,” “So In Love,” “Appetite,” or “Shattered Dreams,” and you’ll see what I mean.

The biggest challenge I found in making this list was balancing rankings between songs on the rise and songs on the decline. I found there was a particular category of song — examples include “Just Like Heaven” and “Here Comes Your Man” — that I once loved, but for some reason have not kept my interest. These songs are excellent and I’ve listened to them more times than many other choices on the list. I’m just not that excited about them anymore. Should I rate them based on my current lack of interest or on their historical value to me? In the end, I’ve erred on the side of current excitement levels, meaning I’ve ranked something like the “Mary’s Prayer”, a more recent favorite, higher simply because the bloom is still on. Fair? I think so — especially when you consider how many times I’ve heard something like “You Better You Bet” with literally no degradation in enjoyment.

Finally, it’s worth repeating a few points from my ’90s post about the general impossibility of doing a ranking like this. Choose any two adjacent songs — say “Raspberry Beret” and “True” — and compare them. Is “True” really better? Maybe today it is, but the distinctions are really subtle. Still, I’d say overall the list does go in a generally upward trajectory, culminating in some of the songs from the ’80s I most deeply love. In that respect, I aim to take some measure of satisfaction in a task when can never be satisfactorily achieved. So without further ado…

My top 80 of the ’80s

You can listen on Spotify or hear the top ten on Mixcloud.

80. Bonnie Tyler — “Total Eclipse of the Heart”
79. Bobby Brown — “My Prerogative”
78. The Kinks — “Destroyer”
77. Squeeze — “Black Coffee in Bed”
76. John Fogerty — “Rock and Roll Girls”
75. B-52s — “Song for a Future Generation”
74. The Psychedelic Furs — “Heartbreak Beat”
73. Kylie Minogue — “Hand on Your Heart”
72. The Jam — “That’s Entertainment”
71. Run-D.M.C. — “It’s Tricky”
70. Paul McCartney — “My Brave Face”
69. Elvis Costello & the Attractions — “Everyday I Write the Book”
68. Steely Dan — “Hey Nineteen”
67. Queen — “I Want to Break Free”
66. The Specials — “Ghost Town”
65. Biz Markie — “Just a Friend”
64. Echo & the Bunnymen — “The Cutter”
63. Daryl Hall and John Oates — “I Can’t Go for That”
62. Tracy Ullman — “You Broke My Heart in Seventeen Places”
61. Culture Club — “Church of the Poison Mind”
60. The Bongos — “Mambo Sun”
59. Paul Simon — “I Know What I Know”
58. The Pretenders — “Mystery Achievement”
57. The Housemartins — “Happy Hour”
56. The B-52s — “Love Shack”
55. Katrina and the Waves — “Walking on Sunshine”
54. The dB’s — “Bad Reputation”
53. Joan Jett and the Blackhearts — “Bad Reputation”
52. Janet Jackson — “Miss You Much”
51. Johnny Hates Jazz — “Shattered Dreams”
50. Flesh for Lulu — “Postcards from Paradise”
49. Michael Penn — “No Myth”
48. Prince — “Raspberry Beret”
47. Spandau Ballet — “True”
46. Kirsty MacColl — “A New England”
45. Elaine Page and Barbara Dickson — “I Know Him So Well”
44. New Order — “Bizarre Love Triangle”
43. Wham! — “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go”
42. The Dukes of Stratosphear — “Brainiac’s Daughter”
41. Love and Rockets — “It Could Be Sunshine”
40. The Waterboys — “The Whole of the Moon”
39. The Jam — “Beat Surrender”
38. Tears for Fears — “Head Over Heels”
37. Rod Stewart — “Downtown Train”
36. The Cure — “Just Like Heaven”
35. Daryl Hall and John Oates — “Diddy Doo Wop (I Hear the Voices)”
34. Crowded House — “Better Be Home Soon”
33. Chaka Khan — “I Feel for You”
32. Romeo Void — “Never Say Never”
31 .Violent Femmes — “Add It Up”
30. The Go-Betweens — “Right Here”
29. Prefab Sprout — “Appetite”
28. The Stone Roses — “She Bangs the Drums”
27. Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark — “So In Love”
26. XTC — “Senses Working Overtime”
25. Erasure — “A Little Respect”
24. Pixies — “Here Comes Your Man”
23. When in Rome — “The Promise”
22. Madonna — “Holiday”
21. They Might Be Giants — “She’s an Angel”
20. The Psychedelic Furs — “Pretty in Pink”
19. Aztec Camera — “Oblivious”
18. The Replacements — “Alex Chilton”
17. The Jam — “Going Underground”
16. The Smiths — “The Boy with the Thorn in His Side”
15. Dire Straits — “Tunnel of Love”
14. Morrissey — “The Last of the Famous International Playboys”
13 .Tracy Chapman — “Fast Car”
12. Danny Wilson — “Mary’s Prayer”
11. They Might be Giants — “Anna Ng”
10. The Who – “You Better You Bet”
9. ABC — “The Look of Love”
8. Pet Shop Boys ft. Dusty Springfield — “What I Have I Done to Deserve This?”
7. Echo & the Bunnymen — “Bring on the Dancing Horses”
6. Swing Out Sister — “Breakout”
5. Kirsty MacColl — “Free World”
4. The Smiths — “Ask”
3. Donald Fagen — “I.G.Y.”
2. Orchestral Manoeuvers in the Dark — “Enola Gay”
1. XTC — “Mayor of Simpleton”

Spotify link

Dragon — “April Sun in Cuba” (1977) New Zealand hit “April Sun in Cuba” is a repeat from the last Sounds Delightful, but I’m still listening to it non-stop, for all the reasons I’ve already described. More than that, it’s the inspiration for this whole playlist. It’s astounding to me that there’s a classic rock song out there in the world which pretty much any classic rock fan would enjoy, which is completely unknown and unavailable in the United States. Up until a few months ago, I had never heard “April Sun in Cuba,” never heard of it, never heard of Dragon. I even had to record the audio off YouTube, since Amazon and Spotify only have crappy re-recordings and live versions available. It got me wondering, are there more songs like this from Australia and New Zealand? More gems capturing the familiar styles of the pop era, yet completely new to the American lister? 

The answer is yes, to a degree. For every INXS or Lorde or Nick Cave, there are plenty of Australian and Kiwi hitmakers who never made it big in the States. In some ways, it’s a bit like an alternate universe where all the pop music sounds the same stylistically, but just happens to be performed by different people. Of course, not all of it is as good as “April Sun in Cuba,” but there are definitely some highlights, compiled here. The goal of this playlist is that, if you’re an American, you won’t know any of these songs from Down Under, but you’ll feel like you should.

Cold Chisel — “Forever Now” (1982) If you start Googling stuff like “greatest Australian songs of all time,” you’re going to hear a lot of Cold Chisel. They’re another pretty standard classic rock band, and “Forever Now” sounds a bit like a combination of Don Henley, John Fogerty, and John Mellencamp. And while Cold Chisel might not be innovators, it became clear after listening to a few of their songs that these guys are really good songwriters. Their melodies have a certain sparkle, and they have a knack for catching your ear the first time through, which is really hard to do.

Hoodoo Gurus — “What’s My Scene” (1987) Hoodoo Gurus will probably be known in the States by diehard fans of ‘80s college rock along the lines of the dB’s or Let’s Active. I was familiar with several of The Gurus’ songs prior to this project, but somehow I had never heard this one — and I think it’s their best! Just a perfect slice of power pop with some charming wordplay in relation to the title: “Now the stage is set/Where’s my Juliet, baby?/Is it maybe/My Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

Bic Runga — “Sway” (1997) “Sway” really should have been right at home with late ‘90s hits like Natalie Imbruglia’s “Torn” or Sixpence None the Richer’s “Kiss Me.” I like Bic Runga’s vocals here a lot. They’re very pretty, yet admirably straightforward.

John Paul Young — “Love is in the Air” (1977) This one is a light disco ballad, a bit like Andy Gibb, but with a vocal style more similar to David Cassidy. If that description doesn’t sell it for you, then you are in the wrong place! It appears that this song was also a #7 hit in the U.S., so why am I not hearing it hourly on my local oldies station?

The Easybeats — “She’s So Fine”  The Easybeats did have a later U.S. hit with “Friday on My Mind,” but they spent much of the ‘60s being a kind of Australian Beatles, albeit with little more Kinks rawness on display here.

Ian Moss — “Tucker’s Daughter” (1988) It’s not surprising that Ian Moss was the guitarist of Cold Chisel or that he co-wrote “Tucker’s Daughter” with former bandmate Don Walker. Again, this is a triumph of classic rock execution. That “Build me up just to tear me down” part is the kind of hook you only need to hear once. The story being told here is also pretty decent. The whole “rich girl falls for rustic laborer” thing has of course been done before, but I like the twist that this guy sees through her designs, remaining devoted instead to a sort of generational connection to the land.

You Am I — “Heavy Heart” (1998) Lately I’ve been reading a book about how to better understand poetry, and these guys could have written the chapter on similes. “I miss you like sleep” is so simple and visceral, it’s almost unbelievable no one’s ever used that in a song before. And “I’m like a waterlogged ball that no one wants to kick around anymore” arouses both deep pathos and a suspicion that this relationship might not have been particularly good to begin with.

The Saints — “Know Your Product” (1978) The Saints sound like a different band every time I hear them. They’ve done everything from early, stripped-down punk to more straightforward alternative rock to “Know Your Product,” which pairs the conversational snark of The Fall with a hot horn section.

The Mixtures — “The Pushbike Song” (1970) This is just a pleasant little bubblegum skiffle number, along the lines of “In the Summertime,” and made a bit more charming by the use of the term “pushbike,” which is apparently just what Australian people call a regular bicycle.

Sherbet — “Howzat” (1976) “Howzat” captures a certain ‘70s sound that combines soft rock with a light funk element — think something like “Couldn’t Get it Right” by the Climax Blues Band. Actually, after writing that first sentence, I listened to “Couldn’t Get it Right” back-to-back with “Howzat,” and they are remarkably similar. The songs were released within two months of each other, so this was definitely the zeitgeist. Sherbet’s album of the same name also provides some excellent artwork for this mix.

John Williamson — “True Blue” (1986) At least according to its YouTube commenters, “True Blue” is a song that Australians play at both funerals and rugby matches. I suppose there’s a certain confluence of wistfulness, loyalty, national pride, and desire to capture the true meaning of things that can characterize both events, and this song hits all those nails on their heads.

Crowded House — “Better Be Home Soon” (1988) This is a bit of a cheat, since I’ve been familiar with this song for many years. I went through a period of being really into Crowded House, but I realized that in the time since I’d stopped playing them actively, I rarely heard any of their songs in the wild. I’d guess that many Americans view them as a one hit wonder for “Don’t Dream It’s Over.” So I felt it was appropriate to use “Better Be Home Soon” as the closer here because a) I like it and enjoy hearing it, b) It’s literally one of the most beautiful melodies I can think of and c) I think Crowded House songs are still sadly overlooked by a lot of U.S. listeners. 

This mix is a true Sounds Delightful in that it has no theme other than songs that have brought me joy in the past few months. 

Spotify link

1. Lizzo — “Juice” (2019) This is what a hit’s supposed to sound like, people. Peppy, instantly memorable, and above all fun. Along with its flouncy delivery and choice sing-rapping, “Juice” flaunts some very respectable Nile Rogers-style guitar and a real horn section. Lately it seems to me that the music that would have at one time been called “R&B” has become the standard bearer for the kind of quality mainstream songwriting and production that was once the hallmark of rock and pop. 

2. Teleman — “In Between the Rain” (2018) Sometimes Teleman get much more electronic, but here they’re downright McCartneyesque with a jaunty piano line and crafty melody. “Fifteen hundred birds singing out your name/You didn’t hear a thing, they were singing in vain” is the best hook, especially the way it goes up a little on the word “singing.” You know this is true because that line only comes around twice, and you’ll be waiting for it the second time.

3. Dragon — “April Sun in Cuba” (1977) I heard this song on a Kiwi tv show where it was presented as the kind ubiquitous throwaway that any New Zealander would be prepared to sing along with after a few mojitos. Really, it’s just some straight up, good-time classic rock, full of “whoa-oh-ohs” and “so rights.” The real draw as an American is getting to hear this style of music with a freshness that no Tom Petty or Doobie Brothers song is ever going to have for us again.

4. Weyes Blood — “Everyday” (2019) Another throwback, but in so timeless a style that you won’t believe it isn’t still a dominant force in pop music. Weyes’ voice is like liquid gold — gorgeous, but with heft. She reminds me a bit of Joni Mitchell in that way. I particularly love the string arrangement, the “bah-buh-bah-bah backing vocals,” and the quasi-earnestness of lines like “True love is making a comeback.”

5. Nick Lowe — “Tokyo Bay” (2018) Nick Lowe is hands down the coolest old guy around. His current musical touchtones — classic country, pre-Beatles rock’n’roll, and rockabilly —  are the sonic equivalent of his white hair, dark glasses, and crisp collared shirts: completely age-appropriate, yet never out of style. In “Tokyo Bay,” Lowe plays off the surf rock stylings of Los Straightjackets with a tale of high-seas adventure, peppered with old school jive talk like “Long gone, daddy,” “Work my ticket,” and “That’s all I wrote.” It’s seriously my life goal to age this well.

6. Paul Westerberg — “First Glimmer” (1993) There are just so many masterful songwriterly touches in this song. First, the details: the bridge that’s been torn down, the bikes, the Indian summer, the purple mascara and safety pins — you’re there. Then there’s the way that lines hide within lines. Here’s the chorus: “You were my first [pause] glimmer of light.” It doesn’t get much plainer than that, but you might not notice given most listeners’ tendency to focus on a song’s title as a unit. I also like “Purple mascara, safety pins/God did it hurt.” What exactly hurt? The safety pins, yes, probably — but one gets the sense it’s a lot more than that. And finally ““We made a wish[,] things would never be better.” It’s unclear whether that comma should be there after “wish,” but each option is poignant in its own way. 

7. Morrissey — “Wedding Bell Blues” (2019) Morrissey’s been on fire with his covers lately. While “Wedding Bell Blues” is thematically ambiguous — and the circumstance of a male singing it makes it potentially more so — I don’t think that’s the point here at all. Morrissey sings the song not like a man who’s emotionally engaged with its content, but like a man who loves “Weddings Bell Blues” and might almost be singing along to a car radio, albeit excellently. 

8. The Partridge Family — “I’m on My Way Back Home” (1974) I first misheard the chorus of this song as “I’m on my way back home, butterfly,” which I might like even better. I was turned onto this track by an excellent record guide called Lost in the Grooves, which describes its parent album — The Partridge Family Sound Magazine — with a well-deserved ecstasy. And how could this not be good when it’s the product of best that the ’70s studio machine had to offer? One of the co-writers is Bobby Hart and the other is the guy who wrote the Bewitched theme song! Never believe that crass commercialism can’t yield great results.

9. Emily King — “Look at Me Know” (2019) Here’s another R&B-adjacent gem, this one the responsible sapphire to Lizzo’s sparkly diamond. Catchy as anything, “Look at Me Now” talks like a modern-day “I Will Survive,” although with a hint of wistfulness that suggests Emily King might not be as over it as she thinks. The arrangement is pure class, and there’s something about the guitar that reads classic rock to me — almost a Brian May sound, I think?

10. R.E.M. — “Imitation of Life” (2001) Thanks to my recent immersion in Scott Miller’s Music: What Happened? I’ve been having a mini renaissance for late-period R.E.M. I love the sounds of the words in this song, just for themselves: “This sugar cane, this lemonade/This hurricane, I’m not afraid.” I take the meaning of it to be a commentary on fame’s constant need to deliver greatness, while glossing over the struggles it takes to achieve it. That sounds dark, but actually the song comes across with a sense of triumph.

11. Ben Lee — “Catch My Disease” (2005) There’s been a certain type of song in the past twenty years that I worry about. It’s the “indie hit,” briefly popular on college radio and adult alternative stations, unavoidable for a while then fading away like most hits do. But while other genres have places where their old hits can go to live out their days, what will happen to these songs? Have we reached the point where we need some “classic indie” stations and compilations to preserve the minor classics of the 2000s? If so, then Ben Lee’s “Catch My Disease” will be the “Dancing in the Moonlight” of its generation. With its plinky piano, party vocals, and affable self-deprecation, it’s the kind of throwaway bauble that nostalgia radio is made for.

12. Lou Reed — Sweet Jane (Live) (2008) If you know the original “Sweet Jane” really well and you try to sing along with this version, all of the words will line up in the gaps like a set of bad teeth. It’s remarkable how much Lou Reed can alter about the phrasing — and really everything else — and still have this be recognizably the same song. The slight increase in tempo, the super-tight touring band, and Lou’s punchy delivery all give this version a sharpness that makes the original seem a little slow and fuzzy. The best part is near the end when he sings “And life — life! — and life is just to die.” Tell us something, Lou.

When I first started reading Scott Miller’s Music: What Happened?, I told myself that I didn’t have to listen to every song. In each chapter Miller — who fronted cult-pop bands Game Theory and The Loud Family — ranks his favorite tracks of the year, from 1957 to 2011. With about 20 songs on each list, that’s well over 1000 songs. Given that it took me 18 months to finish the book, you can probably guess what happened.

From the start, I found Miller to be such an insightful critic and kindred spirit, that I just had to hear the songs he was writing about. How can you internalize a comment like “…on this one you can really hear the volume drop to a soft plateau and lock onto a perfectly controlled vibrato…” without hearing the vibrato in question? (Frank Sinatra on 1958’s “One for My Baby, in case you’re wondering.) So I started reading a chapter at a time, then listening to each song on Spotify while consulting the book to catch some of the more specific references. This approach allowed me to absorb the big picture of each year, while picking up on a lot of subtleties of individual songs.

The whole experience turned into an immersive journey through pop music, during which I gained a fresh perspective on favorite songs, rediscovered some I had forgotten, and learned a lot of new ones. I also gained a huge appreciation for Scott Miller, who knows music, but who more importantly loves music — and who is genuinely very funny. In the spirit of Miller’s approach, I’m framing the rest of this review in the form of a playlist. Each song helps illustrate an element of Music: What Happened?, along with the expressiveness of Miller’s writing and the impression it made on me.

(Spotify link)

1. The New Pornographers — “Mass Romantic” (2000) 

I wanted to start out with a song that would sum up everything about Miller’s worldview on music, and “Mass Romantic” does nicely. Generally, Miller loves melodic pop. Specifically, he values creativity, tunefulness, the sound and meaning of lyrics, accomplished playing, and a minimum standard of pop accessibility. In his review of “Mass Romantic,” which he chose as his favorite song of 2000, Miller singles out elements like “the unlikely ka-chunka guitar figure” and “the run-on sentence verse structure that always resolves in the middle of the word radio.” You will now always notice these things when you listen to this song. I also wanted to start out with a banger, because Miller loves songs that are fun, and that’s important.

2. Henry Mancini and Audrey Hepburn — “Moon River” (1961) 

As a book about years, Music: What Happened? inevitably becomes a book about decades. Decades are tricky things though, and it’s safe to say that the ’60s don’t really start until the release of “Love Me Do” in 1963. That leaves us with 1957-1962 as a pre-Beatles mix of vocal standards, jazz, early rock’n’roll, and showtunes. With a choice like “Moon River,” Miller tackles this era in a way that’s true to the values he applies to the modern pop world where he’s clearly more comfortable. He likes that Mancini is expected to be “in a word, charming,” and engages in what will become a trademark style of lyrical analysis, divining meaning in what some might dismiss as nonsense: “…but ‘huckleberry friend’ is so weird (is that a description of a color that calls Jim and Huck Finn to mind?) that it provides mooring as a kind of imagined colloquialism.”

3. The Monkees — “Daydream Believer” (1967) 

Ah, the heart of the ‘60s. It was a glorious time, and Scott Miller thinks so too. Usually he limits himself to one song per band per year, but in the case of the ‘60s he has to make an exception and allow one song per Beatle. It’s to his credit that he comes close to making a similar case for the Monkees, tossing out a few alternate choices before settling on “Daydream Believer” for 1967. This pick is a good example of his lack of snobbishness, as well as his ability to describe the musicality of a song. He effuses,

“‘Cheer up sleepy Jean,’ the way Davy slams the compressor with it, is certainly a world-class hook by itself, but holds back on a tentative minor chord, then ‘Oh what can it mean’ sidesteps to another minor. At “to a…,” there’s still a rest on the next big downbeat!”

I love how excited he is about that rest.

4. The Temptations — “Papa Was a Rolling Stone” (1972) 

The ’70s remain glorious. I think it’s only in the past couple years that I have fully absorbed the extent of that decade’s variety and quality. You can see this in the song choices throughout these chapters, with Miller easily covering a range of styles from rock to pop to R&B to prog to true out-there stuff like The Legendary Stardust Cowboy. As Miller points out, the ’70s also represent a peak of racial integration in pop culture: “The same people bought Sly and the Family Stone and Three Dog Night.” The boundaries between genres were also less defined, as in this Temptations number, which is both danceable and “sophisticated in its lyrical and vocal drama.” Miller makes the effort to continue to represent black artists as the years go on, but It’s hard to imagine that he really likes the Kayne songs he’s picking in the 2000s as much as he likes this.

5. Band Aid — “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” (1984) 

Scott Miller hates the ’80s. I was a little surprised by his attitude, because I thought that most cool music people had moved past that kind of anti-syth purism. But there’s Miller in 1985 bemoaning, “As drum machines and DX7s blared, crooning emoters with mullets and rolled-up suit jacket sleeves paraded victoriously past countless sorry little rock combos at palpable risk of obsolescence” — and he’s kind of selling me on it. Once you start listening for that DX7 bell sound and gated reverb on the snare, you will not be able to unhear it. To be fair, Miller does find the silver lining of the ’80s, particularly in beloved traditionalists like R.E.M., The Smiths, and The Replacements. Still, 1984’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas” was the obvious choice to represent Miller’s grudging attempt to capture the zeitgeist of these years.

“Why? Until it gets to the very respectable ‘Feed the world/Let them know it’s Christmas time’ part at the end, it’s not really even good. The answer is that one can only say God bless them, but rhetorically, what can one say of such a parade of Boys George and Simon Les Bons singing lines as bad as ‘the only water flowing is the bitter sting of tears’”?

6. The Smashing Pumpkins — “Cherub Rock” (1993) 

A bold pronouncement:

“The nineties were better than the eighties, and one key reason was there there was less originality. Originality is unmusical. The urge to do music is an admiring emulation of music one loves; the urge toward originality happens under threat that the music that sounds good to you somehow isn’t good enough.”

This jibes with my own view that innovation is generally overrated. It’s a paradox, because without innovation, where would we be? But at the same time, in 99 out of 100 scenarios, most people will be better served by a classic idea well executed. Hence Miller’s conclusion that “Cherub Rock” “might have been the third best song on a Black Sabbath record in 1971,” but was exciting in 1993 simply because it sounded like the kind of music that everyone already liked.

7. Belle and Sebastian — “The Blues are Still Blue” (2006) 

The 2000s mark a change in the demographics of Miller’s picks. Previously, his lists tended to have a good mix of mass market pop, cult indie, and true obscurities. But in the 2000s, the mass market element shrinks significantly. Despite the fact that Miller has almost 25 years on me, I find the same pattern in my own listening. The 2000s were when mainstream radio hits diverged so much from the template set by the glory years of the ’60s and ’70s that adult listeners who wanted to keep listening to new music had to create their own space. The result has been a kind of hipster adult contemporary genre that retains a focus on melodies and guitars. As Miller says, “It doesn’t hit you over the head with new innovations or worthy superstars, but generally speaking, little people in music are doing good work that makes progress on its own terms.” “The Blues are Still Blue” is one of my own favorite songs, and Miller treats the development of the characters within the song, as well as Stuart Murdoch’s light touch in relating to them, with appropriate reverence.

8. One Direction — “What Makes You Beautiful” (2011) 

I’ve alluded to the fact that each chapter of Music: What Happened? has a certain structure. Miller’s goal was that each chapter would fit on a single CD, and as such they usually end up at around 20 songs. Within the chapter, only the last 10 songs are ranked, with special attention paid to the last couple as the best songs of the year. The first song in the chapter is an attempt to capture the zeitgeist of that year, which results in some of the more wildcat picks (see also “Do They Know It’s Christmas?). You can tell Miller is struggling a bit with the zeitgeist songs for the later years, but I have to give him props for what appears to be a genuine appreciation of “What Makes You Beautiful.” Miller points out that 1D are working in a similar tradition to the Monkees and engages in some speculation that maybe rock is not, in fact, dead. The ’10s did go on to contain occasional flashes of classic pop brilliance like “Call Me Maybe,” “Uptown Funk,” “All About That Bass,” “Happy,” and “Shut Up and Dance,” and I wouldn’t be surprised to see any of those show up on Miller’s future lists, were he still around to write them.

9. Paul McCartney — “Maybe I’m Amazed” (1970) 

Scott Miller likes Paul McCartney, but more importantly Scott Miller respects Paul McCartney. He praises Paul throughout the book for some of typical things, like his ability to write great songs and sing great harmonies. But he also gets things right about Paul that the average person might miss. Take this statement: “The cheapest stance among music critics in my lifetime is that Paul McCartney is a lightweight.” So true, and I’ve said variations on that theme myself, many times. But then take this statement: “Paul is the best non-improvised lead guitar player there is.” I have never heard anyone say that, ever. To think about Paul as a great guitarist is not only to reconceptualize his work entirely, but to reconceptualize the concept of a great guitar player entirely. We’re conditioned to equate greatness with shredding and decibels and long jams, but what about solos that are tight and melodic and full of feeling? That’s the brilliance of Music: What Happened? — to make you think about songs you know well in new ways. Miller accomplishes a similar feat in his ongoing discussions of David Bowie as a great lyricist and John Lydon as a great vocalist.

10. Smokey Robinson — “Cruisin’” (1979) 

There’s an element of light musical theory in this book, a lot of which I don’t feel qualified to evaluate. But even if I don’t fully understand it, there are times when I can tell it’s spot on. Take Miller’s comment about “Cruisin’”:

“The minor-third-down chord change on ‘love’ in ‘I love it when we’re cruisin’ together’ has some specialness that I can’t put my finger on, that I think of as critical to pop in my lifetime and that I credit Smokey with inventing.”

I never could have put that into words myself, but, when I hear it, there’s no question it’s what makes the melody work. Even Scott can’t explain why, but that won’t stop him from making the jump to an exhilarating grand pronouncement.

11. Nirvana — “All Apologies” (1993) 

It’s fascinating to hear Miller interpret the lyrics of some of these songs, especially when his analysis is different from my own or just really unexpected. His review of “All Apologies” is pretty involved, but here’s an excerpt:

“His own marriage and fatherhood haven’t relieved his own turmoil, and he somehow knows this is connected to blame: ‘Everything is my fault/I’ll take all the blame/Aqua seafoam shame.’ Is that the cliche of seafoam being a tacky color worn by bridesmaids? I think he’s saying: I’ll admit it — I’m the outsider, the tacky bridesmaid, the gay person, we all are.”

Is that interpretation right? Is it what Kurt intended to say? No one can answer that question, but that’s not the point. Pop music lyrics are more like a Tarot card reading than an instruction manual. Their meaning lies in what they suggest to the hearer, and it’s fascinating to get such an intimate peek into someone’s experience.

12. Gomez — “All Too Much” (2006) 

On the whole, Music: What Happened? is about good songs, so Miller doesn’t have a lot of opportunity to be really critical. But in a few cases, he chooses songs that he has mixed feelings about, and these open up some different territory. His review of “All Too Much” is probably the funniest one in the whole book, and it’s also amazingly insightful.

“It’s the Tom Waits/Bjork effect: the more underbite, cold symptoms, and bear growl you inflect, the more authentic the song must be. A few Cat Powers and Devendra Banharts make life interesting, but there’s a fine line between that and Jimmy Durante doing the sad verse after Frosty melts.”

A great punchline, yes, but it’s not just a cheap shot. Just like that, I understand why I dislike Tom Waits. What a rare gift to be able to express such a subtle point with such humor.

13. Steely Dan — “My Old School” (1973)

 I didn’t know this Steely Dan song before I started Music: What Happened?, and it’s probably my favorite of all the discoveries I made as I read. Miller’s review rightly points out all the awesome bits, but what sticks in my head is his claim that, “This song will get me out of a deathbed depression and back to loving life with mechanized efficiency.” That’s a bit of a punch to the gut, knowing that Miller killed himself only a couple years after the book’s final edition was published. It’s sad to think that he’s gone and that we’ll never hear what he has to say about so many more years of music. It’s somehow sadder still to think that Steely Dan wasn’t enough.

Bonus Track: The Loud Family — “Chicago and Miss Jovan’s Land-O-Mat” (1997) 

I do want to end this thing on an up note, because Music: What Happened? has brought such joy and enrichment to my life. Each time I picked it up, especially after having been a way for a while, I experienced a warm rush, like “hello, old friend.” I really felt that I had grown to know Scott Miller, who put so much of himself into this book, and that deep feeling of engagement with great music writing has become of the best ways I know to keep my listening fresh. I feel a little bad that I’ve never been that into Game Theory or The Loud Family, but this is one track I’ve known for a long time and always loved. It brings together so much of what Miller celebrated in the music of others: melody, accomplishment, wit, depth of feeling, and a singular turn of phrase. Thanks for everything, Scott!

When evaluating cover songs, the primary distinction is not whether the cover is good or bad, but whether it is necessary. Consider Weezer’s recent cover of Toto’s “Africa.” This cover is not bad. Weezer is a talented and professional rock band. They know how to sing, play their instruments, and reproduce the sounds of “Africa.” But that’s about where it ends. Weezer’s “Africa” is a pretty faithful cover, and it doesn’t evoke any response in me beyond, “Oh here’s ‘Africa.’ Why did they do this?” I suspect people like it for the exact same reasons they like the original: it’s decently catchy and somehow likably idiotic.

By contrast, a necessary cover must do something different from the original song, while at the same time standing on its own merits. If it’s not different, as in the case of “Africa,” then why not just listen to the original, no matter how proficient the cover? And if it’s not good, all the insane interpretation in the world won’t save it.

Based on that thesis, I’ve put together a mix of some favorite necessary covers, along with some thoughts on what makes them work. As I wrote about these songs, a few more specific themes emerged. These include changing up the genre or arrangement, updating the lyrics, mashing multiple songs together, shifting the emotional tenor, and highlighting an element that doesn’t necessarily stand out in the original. The last theme is particularly interesting to me, since a common thread of many of these covers is that they draw out melody in ways the originals don’t. That’s surprising to me because I usually think of melody as a function of songwriting — a song as it’s written is either melodic or not. But it turns out that certain performers really make you hear those melodies, and of course those are the ones I like best.

Listen on Spotify

1. The Bongos — “Mambo Sun” (1982) I hear The Bongos’ “Mambo Sun” as a spiritual ancestor of the pop-punk cover, speeding up the tempo and basically just punching up everything about the original. I’m not usually hyperaware of drums, but even I can’t ignore them here. The group achieves a big drum sound, but without it being that ’80s big drum sound. Also of note: the insane vibrato on “for you” and the xylophone solo followed by what I think might be a vibraslap. Don’t get me wrong, I love T.Rex, but this cover takes Mark Bolan’s hippie nonsense poetry and ups the coolness factor significantly.

2. William Shatner — “Common People” (2004) I know I included “Common People” on another mix recently, but this one wouldn’t have felt right without it. I previously talked about why this song is awesome, so I tried to think more about why it’s a great cover. The Pulp version is fantastic of course, so it’s not begging for improvement. And there’s some extent to which I feel that an American can never truly understand the class politics of this song. But what I think Shatner’s “Common People” achieves is simply being brilliant in and of itself, against all odds. It’s got passion, it rocks, and the production is superb. Adding any conditionals to one’s praise of this song because it’s a cover would be like complaining that all Frank Sinatra songs are covers. It’s not about who wrote it, but how well the interpretation works, and in this case I wouldn’t hesitate to say that Shatner’s “Common People” stakes a real claim at being the definitive version.

3. Bob and Marsha — “To Be Young, Gifted, and Black” (1970) I first heard this before a Morrissey concert, where the pre-show entertainment was a montage of videos of Moz’s favorite songs. The man has taste. I’m honestly not that familiar with the Nina Simone original, but a few listens reveal a march-like interpretation that evokes the protests of the 1960s much more strongly than Bob and Marsha’s joyful reggae-pop cover. I’m sure Simone’s version was needed in a serious way, but the cover offers something valuable too — celebration and encouragement — while also emphasizing the pop elements of the song.

4. Barbara Streisand — “Life on Mars?” (1974) The surprising thing about this cover is the complete and absolute rightness of it. It might seem like a strange pairing, but, when you think about it, “Life on Mars?” isn’t much of a rock song to begin with. Bowie was apparently inspired to write the song after hearing “My Way,” of all things, and Streisand’s rendition really makes you hear it in the context of a big, theatrical ballad. And damn, can she sing! Maybe that’s an unnecessary statement with regard to someone like Barbara Streisand, but what a treat to be reminded of it in conjunction with such quality material.

5. The Presidents of the United States of America — “Video Killed the Radio Star” (1998) Here’s another almost pop punk cover, but with more emphasis on the pop. I think this is a successful formula because it changes the song just enough to be novel in a way that everyone likes — fast, fun, and punchy. The Buggles’ original is pretty good, but I’ve never quite loved it, and I like this better. There’s also lyrical interest in the way that the song didn’t feel particularly dated in the ‘90s. If I didn’t know it was a cover, I’d totally believe the subject matter was still relevant in 1998.

6. Love and Rockets — “Ball of Confusion” (1985) Here’s one that probably needs to be covered at least once a decade. The Temptations’ original is brilliant and so much of it is just as meaningful as ever. But it’s also very ‘70s with its Jesus Christ Superstar-style rock ’n’ soul and all those “great googamoogas”.  Love and Rockets sharpen it up for the ’80s with a spikier hard rock sound and some well chosen lyrical updates. “The politicians say ____________” is a particularly good one. I’d love to hear someone do a real update of this that sounds and feels like the 2010s.

7. Julian Cope — “5 O’Clock World” (1988) There are two great and necessary cover elements here. First, Cope gives us a liberal update on the lyrics that at once retains the meaning of the Vogues’ original, while also expanding its boundaries to an audacious degree. We’re not only breaking free of the workday, but of the whole miserable planet. Second, it combines two covers, using a little snatch of  Petula Clark’s “I Know a Place” as the middle eight. The first time I heard this, it was a delightful surprise that had me grinning so hard for the rest of the song. That Vox Continental outro is another nice nod to the ‘60s.

8. Rod Stewart — “Downtown Train” (1989) Tom Waits for me is in the category of people whose songs are at their best when they’re being sung by someone else. He’s a great songwriter, but his style is weird, and as such his version of “Downtown Train” is intimate, crabbed, and, well, weird. Rod Stewart’s version lets the melody out of its cage and opens the whole thing up to a new kind of grandness. Tom Waits is the one lurking past your gate, while Rod Stewart is shining like a new dime. Whoever produced this wisely didn’t cover up Rod’s tour de force vocal with too many adult contemporary shenanigans. And am I crazy or do those “oh babys” owe a little something to “Bllie Jean?”

9. Kirsty MacColl — “A New England” (1984) Kirsty MacColl takes Billy Bragg’s lo-fi raw diamond and polishes it up into a shining pop gem. Her treatment really brings the melody to the forefront, especially its wistful qualities. This is also a strong lyrical composition, and the changes and additions that Billy made for Kirsty’s version only make it better. “When at last it didn’t ring, I knew it wasn’t you” is a winner of a one-liner that have could have been written by Douglas Adams. But it’s the change from “I’m not looking for a new England/I’m just looking for another girl” to “Are you looking for another girl?” that really gets me. Somewhere along the way, I started to imagine that this line is not being addressed to a boy, but to England itself, as if the country is expelling those who can’t get on board with its lack of cultural support for a young woman who wants more than early motherhood and a loveless marriage.

10. Blind Melon — “Candy Says” (1994) Now this is a transformation. You might not think that The Velvet Underground’s spare, sleepy lament would work as a jangly country tune, or that Doug Yule’s sullen drone would translate to Shannon Hoon’s twangy yelps, but they do. This is another case where the cover isn’t better than the original, it’s just it’s own thing. The Blind Mellon version comes across as more emotionally immediate, letting out the pain of the situation, as opposed to just willing it into indifference. This is not on Spotify, so well worth listening to here on Mixcloud.

11. The Davenports — “Freedom” (2018) So it’s obvious by now that I like covers that emphasize the melodic elements of a song and smooth out rough edges. Does Wham! really need this treatment? I’d say, why not? I’ve always thought of George Michael as a great melody writer, and “Freedom” is one of his strongest. The Davenports have a lot of fun transforming it from one type of pop song to another. Instead of ‘80s slickness, we get Fountains of Wayne-style power pop with all the trimmings: a slightly gravelly vocal, handclaps, glorious harmonies, and a beefed up guitar sound. Totally warranted.

12 .Mark Ronson and Amy Winehouse — “Valerie” (2007) An obvious choice, you might say, but its obviousness is exactly what’s great about it. It’s rare that a 21st century song is both artistically excellent and the kind of universal crowd-pleaser that sounds equally good on an obscure mixtape or in the Banana Republic dressing room. The original is just okay, but the cover is a revelation. The sinuous vocal coaxes out a melody you can barely grasp on the Zutons’ version, and it must have taken a true leap of inspiration to hear how a slightly clunky 2000s rock song could be reframed as a brilliant 1960s pastiche. It’s not just the obvious girl group vocals that make it work, but the little touches like the Wrecking Crew-style horn arrangement. Amy Winehouse is known for that 1960s nostalgia, and more than anything it’s her combination of quality and wide appeal that we should be most nostalgic for.

This Sounds Delightful mix is made up entirely of songs that aren’t available on Spotify. The reason this matters to me is that I often forget to listen to these songs, even though many of them are long-time favorites that I’ve taken care to preserve in my local collection over the years. The reason it might matter to you is that these are 12 great songs that you’d probably never hear if you rely heavily on Spotify’s catalog and recommender services. A lot of these are live tracks and rarities, which explains why they’re not available, but rights issues, anti-streaming sentiment, and people who can’t or don’t bother to get their songs onto the service also come into play. So enjoy this list as a reminder of why people-powered music curation is still the best way to hear stuff  you might not otherwise.

1. NSYNC — “Girlfriend (Neptunes Remix ft. Nelly)” (2002) You can find the regular version of “Girlfriend” on Spotify, but once you’ve heard the superlative early 2000s-ness of the remix there’s no going back. There’s actually a lot about this song that — at least on paper — seems like it should be terrible. You’ve got a flagging boyband, that twangy ’00s rap thing, dated lyrical references, and a vaguely flamenco guitar riff straight off of Santana’s Supernatural. But if nothing else, this song is proof positive that execution can make up for a multitude of sins. The songwriting is superb, no doubt thanks to Pharrell Williams’s involvement. NSYNC really are good singers, and I especially like JT’s little flourishes, like the single-word falsettos he adds to Nelly’s first verse. The overall bigger and brighter sound, along with better beats, just make the original sound thin and sad. And, finally, the general likability of Nelly’s contributions is not an isolated phenomenon. His hits have proven surprisingly durable, despite the fact that the last thing I saw him do was a commercial for Honey Nut Cheerios (“It must be the honey!).

2. Charlotte Hatherley — “Kim Wilde” (2004) I’ve got a copy of this on an old WFMU promo CD from Pseu’s Thing With a Hook, and I’ve been migrating it across various computers and music apps for probably the last seven or eight years. I normally wouldn’t say it’s possible for a song to have too many hooks but this comes close. There’s at least three or four good ones, and they’re strewn throughout the labyrinthine song structure in a way that will have your head spinning. I also like that the name of the song is the name of another musical artist. I once tried to make a whole mix on that theme, but couldn’t quite flesh it out. Maybe one day.

3. Camper Van Beethoven — “Northern California Girls” (2013) David Lowry is vocally anti-streaming, and while I respect his position, I hate that I rarely hear this song as a result. Despite its play on the classic song title, “Northern California Girls” forgoes any kind of party-time atmosphere in favor of a lovely wistful melody and subtle lyrics. The guitar line is warm, but it also conveys a sense of longing. And the lines “You can take a fast train/Baby take the next plane/You’d be home by suppertime” — followed by that gloriously sloppy “ooh ooh ooh ooh” — feel so loose and comfortable. I’m picturing a natural beach toward the end of the day, with the sun’s rays coming in at a low angle and people playing frisbee with their dogs. That’s the obvious top layer of the song’s lyrics, with their implied critique of the kind of ambitious modern lifestyle that pulls people away from their comfortable hometowns to go work in ambitious hipster metros like Austin or Brooklyn. But there’s a tricky second layer as well, in that the song is really describing the arguments put forth by a particular Northern California girl who has her own motivations for wanting this guy to come home. Is it all a little too good to be true? Maybe, maybe not, but it really makes you want to believe the fantasy.

4. Jellyfish — “Let ‘Em In/That is Why (Live)” (1991) Gotta love a band with only two proper albums, but a four-disc rarities comp. Jellyfish did a lot of this kind of thing, opening with a snatch of a cover that segues seamlessly into one of their own songs. “Let ‘Em In” is a great choice to accompany “That is Why.” It’s the kind of charming McCartney inanity that inspired Jellyfish’s attitude, even if their own compositions tend to be a little more baroque. The harmonizing is so flawless, it’s hard to believe this is a live performance.

5. Winter Hours — “Hyacinth Girl” (1986) This out-of-print gem fits right in with the mid-80s jangle pop scene. What makes it special is the way that it’s slow and melancholy, while still having enough movement to grab you. The band’s only web presence is an abandoned MySpace page, so it’s no wonder this isn’t more widely available.

6. God Help the Girl — “God Help the Girl” (2009) In the grand tradition of Jesus Christ Superstar and Chess, Belle and Sebastian’s Stewart Murdoch released the soundtrack to his musical God Help Girl before the musical itself actually existed. A film and a new cast recording eventually followed in 2014, and the original then disappeared from Spotify. It’s a shame because the singing on the original God Help the Girl album is far superior. This is largely due to Catherine Ireton, whose voice has the warmth and clarity of a glass fresh out of the dishwasher.

7. John Wesley Harding — “Hamlet” (1996) This JWH rarity is up with there with “American Pie” and “It’s the End of the World as We Know It” in terms of long, wordy songs that I have somewhat embarrassingly memorized start to finish. And “Hamlet” is is doozy. It’ a stunningly thorough and accurate recounting of the plot of Hamlet, as well as a triumph of slang vocabulary that would make P.G. Wodehouse proud. (“Because he isn’t ready for obligatory killing/He tries to make his uncle think he’s tuppence off the shilling.”) I can also tell you it’s come in handy more than once when Hamlet knowledge is needed for a crossword puzzle or trivia game. “Hamlet” is actually a cover of a song properly titled “Oor Hamlet,” by someone named Adam McNaughton who sings it in an insane Scottish accent. Wes’s version is a little more accessible to non-Scots, and he brings his usual warmth and humor to the song.

8. Robbie Fulks — “Fountains of Wayne Hotline” (2005) I love this song like it’s not a parody. It’s kind of a testament that a song mocking Fountains of Wayne (I think affectionately) for their facile and gimmicky songwriting only proves just how enjoyable that mode of songwriting really is. It also functions beautifully as comedy, and Fulks’s timing is spot on, especially on some of the great one-liners (“Oh, that Gerald…”) The music theory on display also strikes me as very impressive, though I admit to understanding none of it.

9. De La Soul — “The Magic Number” (1989) There’s no reason hip hop can’t be delightful and melodic — and it should be more often. The use of the Schoolhouse Rock sample is a great demonstration of how something that was never really intended as serious music can turn out to have great cultural resonance. This little ditty has probably brought more joy to more people than the most ambitious prog rock symphony. Sadly the excellent use of sampling has also made this album unfindable.

10. Hector and the Leaves — “Little Bee” (2016) Tom Hector is a guy who records songs and puts them on the internet. He doesn’t really seem to make a huge effort to publicize them or become famous. It’s nice to think that someone might create art just because they love it. “Little Bee” is charming pop in the Beatles/Beach Boys style. I especially like the line “cruising down the esplanade.” People don’t really say “esplanade” in the U.S., so it feels sort of casual and exotic all at once.

11. Oasis — “Some Might Say (Live)” (1996) At the time, Oasis’s MTV Unplugged was considered a huge disaster. Liam claimed to have a sore throat, then proceeded to sit in the balcony heckling the band while Noel took over lead vocals. Now it’s like, “Wait, there’s an entire peak-era Oasis concert where Noel sings every song to the accompaniment of Bacharach-style orchestral arrangements? Sign me up!” While the vocals here do falter a bit at points, the arrangement is wonderful, especially the jaunty horn section. And Noel does hit a groove as things go on, even adding some of his own flourishes, like the way he changes up the last note on “Itching in the kitchen once again.” There really should be an official release of this, but bootlegs are easy enough to find.

12. Old 97s — “Singular Girl” (2001) This was originally a bonus track from the Satellite Rides CD, then Rhett Miller recorded a new version for his first solo album. His version wasn’t really that different, except that it cut out the most memorable part — the little quote of “the teeth of the hydra upon you” in the chorus. Maybe there was a rights issue or maybe Rhett through lifting a line from T.Rex would take focus away from his own songwriting. I don’t think he had to worry, since “Singular Girl” is a really well-written song in it’s own right. Lines like “Blame it on the moonlight/blame it on plate tectonics” are fun and unexpected. And in the chorus, “I’ve been trying to tell you/’Cause I can tell you are” reminds me of “Please Please Me” in the way it plays with double word meanings. So yeah, maybe the song is a little less gimmicky and a little more elegant without the T.Rex line — but it’s also a little less fun.

As was inevitable at some point, Sounds Delightful got a little derailed by life events including three weeks of travel, a home renovation, and a decision to leave my job of 11 years for something new. Two of things these have also necessitated some fairly major house cleaning. The upside of this this break has been that #14 has a lot of awesome songs, basically all the ones that have risen to the top of the pile after two months of listening. It’s a true mixed bag, though some connections are made a mini-theme of travel and homecoming not surprisingly crops up near the end. I was also big on lyrical analysis this time, and on the whole I’ve been leaning towards a philosophy that pop song lyrics — even those that are not obviously cerebral or clever — often say a lot more than people give them credit for. Hope you enjoy and hope to have more regular posts for you soon!

Listen on Spotify

1. The Go-Betweens — “Right Here” (1987) My overall feeling when hearing this song is one of overwhelming warmth. The violin and backing vocals in particular seem to radiate a sunniness and the chorus of “I’m keeping you right here” is a like a verbal embrace. I’m usually smiling by the end of the first verse. But then there’s one line that troubles me: “I know you’re 32/But you look 55.” Ouch. Who in their right mind would say that to a romantic partner? It makes me wonder if this song is actually about a friendship. There should be more songs about friendship.

2. Voice of the Beehive — “Don’t Call Me Baby” (1988) Once, shortly after I had broken up with my first serious boyfriend, I walked into the place where we had spent much of our time together. I saw him from across the room and immediately starting walking over to see him, force of habit making me forget for a moment we no longer a couple. After a few steps, I stopped in my tracks like a cartoon character and spun around — but not before he saw it happen. My heart plummeted into my stomach, and I never forgot that feeling. “Don’t Call Me Baby” makes me think of that moment, although it comes across less sad. It really nails the mixed feelings of seeing an ex, ricocheting between resentment and fondness, denial and hope. I think there’s a real subtlety in depicting the sense in which, despite a break up, the things you liked about a person are not wiped out just like that. The lines about the former couple “Walking and fighting and asking for favors/Meeting at midnight while avoiding all the neighbors” are really good too. They’re not romanticized, but strike me as something culled from the real experience of an imperfect couple.

3. BODEGA — “Jack in Titanic” (2018) This song could easily swing too hipster, but a real tunefulness and depth of feeling balance out the borderline-too-clever pop culture humor. The end result falls right into that sweet spot we call charm. “No one sees your blazer jacket fall on your hip like I see” is vivid and sexy. And the melody on the chorus — “When we were young we could see” — is a lesson on how to be a Brooklyn-based art rock collective and still make songs that people will like listening to.

4. Arctic Monkeys — “Science Fiction” (2018) Is there a term for a simile that’s equally insightful about the thing being compared to something and the something it’s being compared to? If not, someone needs to invent that because it took me about 10 minutes to figure out how to poorly convey the concept.³ You’re better off just listening to “Science Fiction,” which says as much about the genre as it does about some kind of relationship — I suppose Alex Turner’s relationship with himself as a songwriter and with this audience. See for example: “I want to make a simple point about peace and love/But in a sexy way where it’s not obvious/Highlight dangers and send out hidden messages/The way some science fiction does.” Musically, this is of a piece with the whole album — slinky pianos and creepy synths, but with enough underlying melody to keep it going. I think it’s growing on me, especially if I consider it to be somewhere between poetry and pop.

5. Leon Russell — “This Masquerade” (1972) I went on a cruise with my parents earlier this summer, and the ship’s band — an endearing bunch of nerdy Asian guys with matching hats and a very decent female singer — included this tune as part of their regular set. My dad was very excited, though I suspect their rendition was actually based on the hit cover by George Benson. Still it’s a good prompt for me to listen to some more Leon Russell. He seems like a songwriters’ songwriter, but there’s also a knack for delivery on display here.

6. Bread — “Baby I’m A-Want You” (1972) If you can get past the insipidness of the “Baby, I’m a- ________” phrasing, this is a nice little soft rock gem. I find myself getting particularly excited about the middle eight. The falsetto raises the emotional tenor and the lines “Used to be my life was just emotions passing by/Feeling all the while and never knowing why” speaks to a maturation process that has more heft than the rest of the song. Actually, all Bread songs are a little better than you think they should be, a discovery I made thanks to their awesomely-named Anthology of Bread hits compilation.

7. Johnny Flynn — “Detectorists” (2014) I did not expect a show about metal detector enthusiasts starring that scrawny guy from the UK Office to be such a revelation. This theme tune just brilliantly sums it all up: the delicate tone, the loving depictions of the natural world, the wry humor, and a sense of deep emotions hidden under a broad and placid landscape.

8. The Posies — “Solar Sister” (1993) The Posies’ Frosting on the Beater is an album I used to listen to all the time, but haven’t heard for ages. Some of that grunge influence sounds sludgy to me know, but “Solar Sister” is the group at their bittersweet, melodic best. They somehow manage to pack a whole chorus’s worth of catchy notes into just the last syllable of the title.

9. Jennifer Trynin — “Better Than Nothing” (1994) “Better Than Nothing” is a cruel trick of a song. How many times this week have I found myself thinking of that big hook: “I’m feeling good/I’m feeling good/I’m feeling good” only to come up short on “for now”? It’s like whatever bitterness Jennifer Trynin is feeling for the subject of this song gets redirected at the listener as well. The grunge adjacent hooks are compelling enough that you forgive her.

10. The Pursuit of Happiness — “She’s So Young” (1988) The Pursuit of Happiness is best known for their I-don’t-wanna-grow-up tirade “I’m an Adult Now,” a song that’s really not as clever as Moe Berg probably thought it was when he wrote it at advanced age of 26.⁴ “She’s So Young” explores a similar theme and it’s really the better song. It’s got a nice, jangly Marshall Crenshaw-meets-Smithereens vibe, and the lyric “She’s so young/She does’t need to question herself like I do” wisely opts for poignance rather than snark in describing the loss of youth’s surety.

11. Allo Darlin’ — “Capricornia” (2012) “Capricornia” apparently refers to a region of Australia, and when I hear “Capricornia skies” in this song, it always makes me picture the night sky. I think it’s because the idea of being underneath a completely separate set of constellations from someone or somewhere else makes you feel very far away. That imagery ties into this song’s themes of homesickness, perhaps for Elizabeth Morris’s native Australia or even just a more abstract feeling of home. I feel obliged mention that “Capricornia” isn’t even the best song on the excellent Europe album, but I’ll save “Tallulah” until the right mix comes along.

12. Blossoms — “Love Talk” (2018) The guys from Blossoms are born melody writers, and they’re great at mixing up the influences of the past 35 years of British rock into something that sounds a little modern, but still pleasingly familiar. “Love Talk,” for example, reminds me of a late period OMD single, and I mean that in the best possible way. Still, I usually find myself wishing they were a little stronger on lyrics, and “Love Talk” is a small step in the right direction. The title phrase itself is almost embarrassingly heartfelt and “town that owns me” has some distinction too.

13. Fountains of Wayne — “Michael and Heather at the Baggage Claim” (2007) I adore Fountains of Wayne’s ability to write this kind of straightforward story-song about small, relatable interactions. Why do so few bands take this approach? Maybe it’s harder than it looks, or maybe it just seems too banal. But there’s as much real poetry in this description of love triumphing over the everyday annoyances that threaten to wear it down, as there is in Alex Turner’s most convoluted metaphor. Talk about a simple point about peace and love.

The concept for this playlist, as I originally described it to my husband, is “songs other people would ridicule.” It wasn’t difficult to put together, since refusing to differentiate between high and low culture when it comes to music is kind of my shtick. This one is all low, in one way or another. It’s got easy listening, disco, bubblegum, hard rock, and Hanson. There’s also a few covers, which prove to be an interesting way to play with the high and low concepts — both through cool people covering bad songs and uncool people covering good songs. Laugh if you must, but I think you’ll enjoy it if you listen in the right spirit.

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1. Wings — “Silly Love Songs” (1976) Songs like “Silly Love Songs” are the reason that people don’t take Paul McCartney seriously. But Paul gets that and turns it around on them, arguing both that he doesn’t care and that lots of people love what he’s doing anyway. And is this really any less cheesy than “Imagine?” In addition to baiting his critics, Paul also indulges his love for medley, cycling through various little riffs and melodic lines. It’s hard to tell what’s the chorus and what’s the verse, if anything is. The best part is the middle eight-ish section that begins “Love doesn’t come in a minute/Sometimes it doesn’t come at all.” There’s a sincerity there. I recently saw the delightful promo video for this song, with footage taken from Wings Across America, and it’s obvious that Paul and Linda, sliding into middle age with their terrible matching haircuts, knew love in a way that wasn’t silly at all.

2. Hanson — “Get The Girl Back” (2013) I’ve always not hated Hanson, but Taylor really started to prove himself somewhere around the mid-2000s. Between appearing with cult supergroups L.E.O. and Tinted Windows and singing lead on a couple of well reviewed Hanson albums, he credibly makes the shift from pop ridicule to pop underground. You’ve got to admit he’s a dynamite vocalist and this pop-soul gem, replete with horns and handclaps, should make Daryl Hall proud.

3. Lisa Mychols — “Don’t Give Up on Us” (2013) I love my ‘70s soft rock, but even I have to admit that David Soul’s original version of “Don’t Give Up on Us” is a snoozefest. Pop darling Lisa Mychols comes to the rescue with a sprightlier tempo, glossy vocal, and wash of crunchy guitars. Her treatment lets the beauty of the melody shine through and transforms the song into something not just listenable, but glorious.

4. Willam Shatner — “Common People” (2004) Shatner may be known for his comically terrible spoken word renditions of pop classics, but this take on Pulp’s “Common People” is FOR REAL. It is literally my #1 all-time favorite cover. The material suits him perfectly, with lots of storytelling and dialogue that he can deliver in an an actorly way. Perhaps the built-in irony of the lyrics precludes any ironic take on the performance itself. The duet aspect of it — with Joe Jackson snarling along in the second half — is astounding as well. I suspect many of the kudos should go to producer Ben Folders for syncing up the spoken and sung parts so brilliantly — never too matchy, but always catching up to each other just in time. Brilliant.

5. Stone Temple Pilots — “Big Bang Baby” (1996) I guess it’s hard to recover from getting publicly slammed in a Pavement song, because STP still struggle to shake their reputation has second-wave grunge also-rans. That’s a shame, since they hold the distinction of “most melodic grunge band who is not Nirvana” and I’m always kind of surprised how much I like them. They really took off with the Tiny Music album, largely shedding the seriousness of early grunge and branching out into a more pop-inspired sound. “Big Bang Baby” is ridiculously catchy and cynical take on fame, and the “Nothing’s for free” middle eight is downright Beatlesque.

6. FireHouse — “Don’t Treat Me Bad” (1990) This might be most overtly terrible-seeming song on this mix. FireHouse are a D-list hard rock band who peaked in the early 90s with a number of hit power ballads in Japan. My husband and I laughed for like 10 minutes when we read that they were from Charlotte. But damn if this isn’t good. It’s just a straight up, Cheap Trick-styled rocker. No frills, just a hook and an actually great rock vocal.

7. Bananarama — “No Feelings” (1983) I haven’t actually verified this, but it seems like the idea of an ‘80s girl group covering one of the Sex Pistol’s seminal anti-pop screeds might rub some people the wrong way. But it works, largely because the pop treatment highlights the lurking musicality that is the secret strength of the Pistols. Viva Glen Matlock!

8. The Fortunes — “Storm in a Teacup” (1972) Another Pistols connection: I first heard this song recommended in John Lydon’s autobiography, Anger is an Energy. He frames it as an example of a kind of enjoyably basic (or “bog standard,” as the Brits would say) pop music that he loves, yet feels the need to defend. I can see how this is kind of the wrong side of history, taking the British invasion sound beyond its prime and mixing in the start of adult contemporary. The sax solo on this would not be out of place on an ’80s Billy Joel song. But still, it is pure, enjoyable pop — catchy and melodic, with something comforting about the “storm in a teacup” message as well.

9. MKTO — “Classic” (2014) This song is just so exuberant and, well, classic that it overcomes a lot. The lyrics, despite being written by professional, adult songwriters, sound like a 12-year’s muddled idea of every cool thing of the past 80 years. The rap is also really bad. But I’m over the moon every time I hear it. I’m never opposed to a little bubblegum, and I actually wish I was aware of more recent songs like this one that are fun for kids, but not so trendy in sound that they can’t cross generational lines as well.

10. Andy Gibb — “I Just Want to be Your Everything” (1977) Part of Barry Gibb’s unstoppable hit-writing spree in the late ’70s, this is only nominally disco and only nominally not a Bee Gees song. Younger brother Andy’s voice here is fine and maybe even nice in that it’s break from non-stop falsetto. But the stars are, as usual, Barry’s melody and the group’s harmonies. The melodic line I like the most is the part beginning “Open up the heaven in your heart and let me be.”

11. Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass — “This Guy’s in Love With You” (1968) Despite Alpert’s easy listening reputation, it’s an open secret that “This Guy’s in Love With You You” is really cool. It’s a Burt Bacharach/Hal David composition, and it’s even been covered (and ripped off) by Noel Gallagher. Much of the charm comes from Alpert giving the kind of naive vocal performance that’s characteristic of a non-singer. What it always reminds me of, strangely enough, is when Mo Tucker sings for the Velvet Underground.

12. Orchestral Maneuvers in the Dark — “Walking on the Milky Way” (1996) After OMD scored this surprise late-career hit, Andy McCluskey was apparently so fed up with the industry’s general indifference to the song that he dissolved the band and began writing songs for a girl group called Atomic Kitten — apparently the only way he could get attention as a songwriter. I think he might regret this now, because OMD are back and sounding even darker than their early days. But “Milky Way” is the group at their adult contemporary best: smooth vocal with a surprising bit of growl, big strings, and singalong chorus. The lines “I don’t believe in miracles/I don’t believe in truth/I don’t believe that anything can recreate your youth” reveal a lurking cynicism and provide a nice counterpoint to the pure pop sound.