30. "The Drowners" - Suede
And Suede make their triumphant return to my countdown. "The Drowners" barely managed to beat out "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" for the first spot in the top thirty. Though I admittedly admire "Mind Playing Tricks On Me"'s poetry more than the fairly standard lyrics of "The Drowners," I personally enjoy "The Drowners" a little more. Furthermore, "The Drowners" has more musical significance: while "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" was a major turning point for southern hip hop, "The Drowners" practically introduced Britpop to the world. While Blur's "Popscene," commonly considered the first ever Britpop song, beat out "The Drowners"' release date by a mere two months, "The Drowners" lifted Britpop into the British and global mainstream in a far more significant way. After all, when the music is this good, one has no other choice but to listen.
As is the case with most early Suede songs, the hero is Bernard Butler. "The Drowners" features the most sexually charged guitar riff of the entire 1990s, using both downbeat strokes and upbeat syncopations to create a sinuous groove. The combination of reverb and power chords provides a constant sense of forward motion. While "Animal Nitrate" (see part 6) seemed to contain multiple miniature climaxes, "The Drowners" keeps pushing to the final chorus. Throughout the song, Butler keeps up the insatiable groove, driving the point home with a guitar solo reminiscent of Angus Young mixed with Crazy Horse-era Neil Young. Yet, in spite of the aggressive guitar tone, Butler never sacrifices melody. The right notes pop out at the right times, making the song that much more effective.
This is not to say the rest of the band isn't operating at their peak: nay, Suede sounds better on "The Drowners" than on practically any other song in their catalogue. Simon Gilbert gives one of his best performances, playing one of the signature drum intros of the 90s. The timpani-bass drum combination perfectly sets up Butler's guitar riff. Brett Anderson once again shows off his hyper-sexual voice. However, the anger and grit of "Animal Nitrate" dissipates, replaced with orgasmic bliss. Anderson is not a technically proficient singer, but his swallowing the words makes the message clear enough when words fail to capture the sexual tension.
The words themselves are solid as well. Some have called "The Drowners" ambiguous in meaning, but the sexual connotations are clear. More importantly, it's about one of few 90s Britpop songs to be about homosexual sex: "We kiss in his room/to a popular tune/oh, real drowners." Gilbert is clearly not kissing in his girlfriend in her brother's room: the lover is male. Many 90s songs have such homosexual subtext, but few are so open about their homosexuality as "The Drowners." Even more interesting, while the sex of "Animal Nitrate" was dirty and often hostile, "The Drowners"' sex is welcoming. It's about enjoying someone else's love so much that one becomes enveloped in love that one actually has to gasp for air. Yet not once does the love seem unbearable or, dare I say, "rape-y." The drowning is mutual. In a way, "The Drowners" did for homosexual sex in the 1990s what Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" did to heterosexual sex in the 1970s: made the act permissible in a musical context.
Though the politics of the 1990s certainly were not as forward-looking as "The Drowners," the music press certainly appreciated the song's excellence. Both NME and Melody Maker called "The Drowners" the best single of 1992. Though I'd disagree with this assessment, I'd be more than happy to call it the second best single of 1992, beaten out only by a higher ranked entry on this list. "The Drowners" is quite possibly my personal favorite Britpop song, though I'd hesitate to call it the best Britpop song. It introduced Britpop to the world, and it's a fine introduction to the top thirty songs.
As is the case with most early Suede songs, the hero is Bernard Butler. "The Drowners" features the most sexually charged guitar riff of the entire 1990s, using both downbeat strokes and upbeat syncopations to create a sinuous groove. The combination of reverb and power chords provides a constant sense of forward motion. While "Animal Nitrate" (see part 6) seemed to contain multiple miniature climaxes, "The Drowners" keeps pushing to the final chorus. Throughout the song, Butler keeps up the insatiable groove, driving the point home with a guitar solo reminiscent of Angus Young mixed with Crazy Horse-era Neil Young. Yet, in spite of the aggressive guitar tone, Butler never sacrifices melody. The right notes pop out at the right times, making the song that much more effective.
This is not to say the rest of the band isn't operating at their peak: nay, Suede sounds better on "The Drowners" than on practically any other song in their catalogue. Simon Gilbert gives one of his best performances, playing one of the signature drum intros of the 90s. The timpani-bass drum combination perfectly sets up Butler's guitar riff. Brett Anderson once again shows off his hyper-sexual voice. However, the anger and grit of "Animal Nitrate" dissipates, replaced with orgasmic bliss. Anderson is not a technically proficient singer, but his swallowing the words makes the message clear enough when words fail to capture the sexual tension.
The words themselves are solid as well. Some have called "The Drowners" ambiguous in meaning, but the sexual connotations are clear. More importantly, it's about one of few 90s Britpop songs to be about homosexual sex: "We kiss in his room/to a popular tune/oh, real drowners." Gilbert is clearly not kissing in his girlfriend in her brother's room: the lover is male. Many 90s songs have such homosexual subtext, but few are so open about their homosexuality as "The Drowners." Even more interesting, while the sex of "Animal Nitrate" was dirty and often hostile, "The Drowners"' sex is welcoming. It's about enjoying someone else's love so much that one becomes enveloped in love that one actually has to gasp for air. Yet not once does the love seem unbearable or, dare I say, "rape-y." The drowning is mutual. In a way, "The Drowners" did for homosexual sex in the 1990s what Marvin Gaye's "Let's Get It On" did to heterosexual sex in the 1970s: made the act permissible in a musical context.
Though the politics of the 1990s certainly were not as forward-looking as "The Drowners," the music press certainly appreciated the song's excellence. Both NME and Melody Maker called "The Drowners" the best single of 1992. Though I'd disagree with this assessment, I'd be more than happy to call it the second best single of 1992, beaten out only by a higher ranked entry on this list. "The Drowners" is quite possibly my personal favorite Britpop song, though I'd hesitate to call it the best Britpop song. It introduced Britpop to the world, and it's a fine introduction to the top thirty songs.
29. "Check the Rhime" - A Tribe Called Quest
The 90s were the most fruitful decade of hip-hop, with the genre evolving in so many different directions as to become, arguably, the best musical movement of the decade. Flows and cadences evolved, themes matured, and beats became more dynamic. Yet, within all of this, one cannot forget the old-school, schoolyard raps that invented the genre. One cannot have the Notorious B.I.G. and the Wu-Tang Clan without the Sugarhill Gang, the Treacherous Three, and Kurtis Blow. These simpler iambic raps may seem to have been just about partying, but they provided a voice of relief for tired African Americans suffering under the prejudices of a racist social system. In the 90s, no one recaptured this magic so well as A Tribe Called Quest. ATCQ went further than other throwback groups like the Jurassic 5, the Jungle Brothers, and the Black Eyed Peas, combining the rhythmic stylings of the early 80s with some of the finest production in hip hop history. "Check the Rhime" might not be their finest lyrical work, but it is the most representative song of their impressive production and conversational delivery.
"Check the Rhime" completely re-imagines its samples on a scale rivaled by very few other rap songs. The main saxophone riff comes from the bridge of Average White Band's "Love Your Life"; while the original is a mere breakdown within a larger funk song, the sample takes the musical core and remixes it so as to recreate the sound of a passing car horn. The spiraling riff practically simulates the Doppler effect using fades and crescendos to create a disconnect between the listener's stasis and the song's dynamism. The main beat for the verses comes from Minnie Ripperton's "Baby, This Love I Have," a forgettable piece of album filler from one of the worst one hit wonders in music history; an originally limp stand-up bass line becomes a thumping street-smart rhythm with the right application of piano shading and drums. Altogether, the music is the bounciest hip hop beat of the entire decade. Undoubtedly, more than a few cars rode their suspension to this tune.
But the real core of "Check the Rhime" comes from the interplay between ATCQ's two main emcees: Q-Tip and Phife Dawg. The introduction to each of the main verses is a brief dialogue between the two rappers about the golden age of hip hop, each asking the other if they are "on point" before they get the chance to go solo. The flow of both rappers is incredibly dynamic, rife with fake-outs, hemiolas, and syncopations. Plus, some of the punchlines are also rich: "I'm like an Energizer 'cause you see I last long," "if knowledge is the key then show me the lock/got the scrawny legs but I move like Lou Brock." It's just the two rappers having a great time, bouncing verses off each other like a kickball on a middle school four square game. Though Phife's Dawg's verse is admittedly a bit juvenile, Q-Tip's makes up for it with its occasional verbosity: "my optic presentation sizzles the retina." Taken together, the two verses form a very cohesive song.
All the bells and whistles of "Check the Rhime" work to produce a truly spectacular hip hop track. It's got tremendous production, great rapping, a unique conversational style for 90s rap music, and a wonderful musical texture. Though Phife Dawg passed away earlier this year, he can rest in peace knowing that he contributed to songs as spectacular as "Check the Rhime." This is hip-hop at its most fun as well as its most creative, a classic of its genre.
"Check the Rhime" completely re-imagines its samples on a scale rivaled by very few other rap songs. The main saxophone riff comes from the bridge of Average White Band's "Love Your Life"; while the original is a mere breakdown within a larger funk song, the sample takes the musical core and remixes it so as to recreate the sound of a passing car horn. The spiraling riff practically simulates the Doppler effect using fades and crescendos to create a disconnect between the listener's stasis and the song's dynamism. The main beat for the verses comes from Minnie Ripperton's "Baby, This Love I Have," a forgettable piece of album filler from one of the worst one hit wonders in music history; an originally limp stand-up bass line becomes a thumping street-smart rhythm with the right application of piano shading and drums. Altogether, the music is the bounciest hip hop beat of the entire decade. Undoubtedly, more than a few cars rode their suspension to this tune.
But the real core of "Check the Rhime" comes from the interplay between ATCQ's two main emcees: Q-Tip and Phife Dawg. The introduction to each of the main verses is a brief dialogue between the two rappers about the golden age of hip hop, each asking the other if they are "on point" before they get the chance to go solo. The flow of both rappers is incredibly dynamic, rife with fake-outs, hemiolas, and syncopations. Plus, some of the punchlines are also rich: "I'm like an Energizer 'cause you see I last long," "if knowledge is the key then show me the lock/got the scrawny legs but I move like Lou Brock." It's just the two rappers having a great time, bouncing verses off each other like a kickball on a middle school four square game. Though Phife's Dawg's verse is admittedly a bit juvenile, Q-Tip's makes up for it with its occasional verbosity: "my optic presentation sizzles the retina." Taken together, the two verses form a very cohesive song.
All the bells and whistles of "Check the Rhime" work to produce a truly spectacular hip hop track. It's got tremendous production, great rapping, a unique conversational style for 90s rap music, and a wonderful musical texture. Though Phife Dawg passed away earlier this year, he can rest in peace knowing that he contributed to songs as spectacular as "Check the Rhime." This is hip-hop at its most fun as well as its most creative, a classic of its genre.
28. "Step On" - Happy Mondays
The Madchester dance scene gave rise to some of the most interesting hit songs of the late 80s and early 90s. Combining the throb of early house music with the guitar tone of New Wave and the bouncy piano of 70s disco, Madchester music occupied a critical space in the formation of dance music in the early 1990s. Many of the most popular indie pop artists of today, such as MisterWives, Of Monsters and Men, and the Go! Team, take inspiration from the sounds of Madchester: fusing sharp instrumentation with extremely percussive and precise beats. While the Stone Roses were the most influential group of the movement, most of their most important releases came out in 1989. Thus, the Happy Mondays are the group I've chosen to feature in this list, with their greatest masterpiece, "Step On."
In one sense, "Step On" is a cover of "He's Gonna Step on You Again" by John Kongos, a 1971 rock song released in the wake of the psychedelic period. The original is a very flawed song, using its guitar riffs in a relatively inefficient way, setting up its modulations rather poorly as compared to other songs of its era. "Step On," however, uses the enhanced recording techniques of the 1990s to give each musical climax more of a punch. The added wah-wah pedal applied to the guitar before the chorus gives the song's dynamism a big boost. Plus, the syncopated piano riff can get anyone into a groove. Perhaps the best musical part of the song is its sense of build, with each melodic line building the song from the ground up. By the time the final chorus comes around, the audience is in pure ecstasy.
"Step On" is one of few 90s songs to use repetition wholly to its advantage. Much like the minimalist music of Terry Riley or Steve Reich, its most interesting musical elements come forth when the short melodic lines are played against each other. The individual lines suggest different moods - the joy of the piano, the sexual allure and danger of the hammered-on guitar riff, the momentum of the drums - but the song manages to carefully negotiate these moods to create an atmosphere of real fun. Lead singer Shaun Ryder caps off the piece with a tempting lead vocal, drawing the listener into the song's universe.
Unfortunately for the Happy Mondays and the Madchester music scene, the party could only last for so long. Eventually, drug abuse and infighting led to the Happy Mondays' breaking up. Though Shaun Ryder would go on to form Black Grape, another fairly successful 90s dance group, the magic never quite returned to the Madchester scene without the most popular band active. Thus, as the 90s went on, the influence of the scene dwindled, allowing the early EDM of Daft Punk and Moby to rise to dominance. But, for the brief time in which Madchester ruled the dance scene, the Happy Mondays left us with a true classic.
In one sense, "Step On" is a cover of "He's Gonna Step on You Again" by John Kongos, a 1971 rock song released in the wake of the psychedelic period. The original is a very flawed song, using its guitar riffs in a relatively inefficient way, setting up its modulations rather poorly as compared to other songs of its era. "Step On," however, uses the enhanced recording techniques of the 1990s to give each musical climax more of a punch. The added wah-wah pedal applied to the guitar before the chorus gives the song's dynamism a big boost. Plus, the syncopated piano riff can get anyone into a groove. Perhaps the best musical part of the song is its sense of build, with each melodic line building the song from the ground up. By the time the final chorus comes around, the audience is in pure ecstasy.
"Step On" is one of few 90s songs to use repetition wholly to its advantage. Much like the minimalist music of Terry Riley or Steve Reich, its most interesting musical elements come forth when the short melodic lines are played against each other. The individual lines suggest different moods - the joy of the piano, the sexual allure and danger of the hammered-on guitar riff, the momentum of the drums - but the song manages to carefully negotiate these moods to create an atmosphere of real fun. Lead singer Shaun Ryder caps off the piece with a tempting lead vocal, drawing the listener into the song's universe.
Unfortunately for the Happy Mondays and the Madchester music scene, the party could only last for so long. Eventually, drug abuse and infighting led to the Happy Mondays' breaking up. Though Shaun Ryder would go on to form Black Grape, another fairly successful 90s dance group, the magic never quite returned to the Madchester scene without the most popular band active. Thus, as the 90s went on, the influence of the scene dwindled, allowing the early EDM of Daft Punk and Moby to rise to dominance. But, for the brief time in which Madchester ruled the dance scene, the Happy Mondays left us with a true classic.
27. "Fade Into You" - Mazzy Star
The 90s weren't a particularly good decade for love songs. While a number of love songs have been featured on this list - "Everlong," "Iris," "Enjoy the Silence" - they tended to be the exceptions within a decade of exceedingly overwrought ballads. Though I have a larger tolerance for songs like Whitney Houston's "I Will Always Love You" and Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" than most people, I would be lying if I said they are indicative of real passion. The best love songs are intimate and delicate, much like Roberta Flack's "The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face" - my choice for the best love song in pop music. Mazzy Star's "Fade Into You" is the song that best exemplifies this tender aesthetic, and it's my choice for the best love song of the 90s... outside of Disney movies, of course.
"Fade Into You" sounds like a song sung immediately after the consummation of a relationship. Yet this is no mere hook-up; this is a long-cherished love come to fruition. Lead singer, Hope Sandoval's, poetry really shines - "I look at you and I see nothing/I look at you to see the truth" - cleverly negotiating the joys of love and the difficulties of not knowing exactly what a lover might think. The song combines the emotional climax of love with a reticence, as if the love might "fade" at any moment. While Hope's love might be with her in this moment, he might not be there the next day. She, however, feels the full emotional weight of their connection, leading the song to sound like a plea of passion. The very notion of "fading into you" suggests romantic surrender. Plus, Hope Sandoval's voice really adds a passionate quality to the entire song; it's far more powerful than even the belts of titans like Whitney Houston.
Yet the romantic joy of "Fade Into You" might be futile. Some of the lines in "Fade Into You" suggest that Hope's love might not be returned: "color your eyes with what's not there," "a stranger's heart without a home." Perhaps all of the feelings of romance are projections of what Hope wants as opposed to what actually is. Furthermore, there's a reason the chorus of the song is "fade into you" and not "melt into you," a phrase that equally suggests surrender and romantic balance. "Fade" suggests temporality and impermanence, and the suggestion only grows stronger as Hope Sandoval lingers on the word in each chorus.
The guitar work on "Fade Into You" is masterful. The main chord progression is a simple I-V-ii, the same progression that grounds the Who's "Baba O'Riley." But while that song used that progression to pump up audiences to previously unachievable levels of catharsis, "Fade Into You" uses the progression to deny the listener a cadence. The song stretches out the romance so as to let the listener linger on each phrase and rest. Even better are the slide guitar interludes, creating dips and twangs in the song. Short segments of microtonality allow the listener to key into the emotional sentiments of the song without too much attachment to the music theory behind the sentiment; the notes between notes showcase the passion on an immediate level.
"Fade Into You" has become a sort of slow dance standards for 90s music nerds, and it's fortunately found its way into the mainstream to at least some extent. While its aesthetic might be emblematic of some of the 90s' more self-indulgent tendencies, the sentiment of the lyrics combined with the sultry vocals and immaculate guitar work really makes the song work. One might think of it as a song fit only to soundtrack cheesy film montages, but I see it as a legitimate 90s classic that will only continue to grow in popularity with age. It's the best love song of the decade... that wasn't written by Disney.
26. "Enter Sandman" - Metallica
I hate Metallica. Metallica has released some of the worst albums in music history, such as 2003's St. Anger and 2011's truly disastrous Lulu. Indeed, after these two albums, it's hard for anyone to truly like Metallica wholeheartedly; they've revealed themselves to be corporate sell-outs who don't care about musical integrity. But, unlike most music fans, I don't like Metallica's most acclaimed material either. During the 80s, Metallica represented everything wrong with thrash metal: all of their songs were in E minor, their lyrics were exceedingly pretentious, and their solos (except for "One" and "Fade to Black") were mostly soulless. In fact the only time I've ever liked Metallica is their eponymous 1991 album, an album on which they were accused of selling out. I agree: Metallica did sell out. And thank God for that, as it gave us "Enter Sandman," the heaviest pop song of all time.
Make no mistake: "Enter Sandman" is a pop song, not a metal song. Structurally, "Enter Sandman" has too few sections to qualify as a true metal song in the vein of Black Sabbath's "Black Sabbath" or Iron Maiden's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" or a thrash song like Megadeth's "Holy Wars... The Punishment Due." It's got a verse, prechorus, chorus, bridge, chorus structure, just like "Don't Speak," "Torn," and other pop songs featured on this list. But the song's definitive pop signature is its best element: one of the best guitar riffs ever. And Metallica knew this was their masterpiece: they start the album with it, they set up the main tune with an ominous lead, and they shot one of the all-time greatest music videos to match it. As a marketing move, "Enter Sandman" is flawless.
It's even better as an actual song. Most Metallica songs discuss topics as weighty as war, drug abuse, and violence with the intellect of an eighth-grader. "Enter Sandman" strips away the pretensions to offer an alternative: pure fear. "Enter Sandman" gets back to heavy metal's roots as the genre of fear, using the Sandman as an access point to all the other themes Metallica handles less well. Yet it retreats just before the details emerge, turning the song into a perverse prayer to the nightmares latent within every young mind. It's so direct with its fear that it's impossible to not to have fun. Hell, James Hetfield even screams "boo!" after the final chorus.
Not to mention, those elements of Metallica that have always been good remain good. Kirk Hammett's lead guitar work and James Hetfield's riff work are as excellent as ever, with the former's guitar solo being quite possibly the best part of the song. Lars Ulrich, while an overrated drummer, gives a truly thunderous performance, a performance, unfortunately, that he'd do everything possible to tarnish on future releases. The production is also great, packing the full ferocity of Metallica's sound into a small space. The song is an assault upon the senses in the best way, tearing into the listener's mind and never letting go for a second.
"Enter Sandman" might be the "metal" tune beloved by people who don't like heavy metal, but it's ultimately the best representation of what non-extreme metal could be during the 1990s. Most every other hard rock band had to jump onto the grunge train in order to stay relevant, but Metallica managed to add some pop craft to their metal aesthetic to become more popular than ever. This song, in fact, was one of the main factors in the death of hair metal: it provided the first push against hair metal that Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden needed to finally bury the genre altogether. For that, even the most devoted of metal die-hards and metal haters owe this song credit. As for me, I'm just content to enjoy the only Metallica song I know with a true sense of structure and meaning.
Make no mistake: "Enter Sandman" is a pop song, not a metal song. Structurally, "Enter Sandman" has too few sections to qualify as a true metal song in the vein of Black Sabbath's "Black Sabbath" or Iron Maiden's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" or a thrash song like Megadeth's "Holy Wars... The Punishment Due." It's got a verse, prechorus, chorus, bridge, chorus structure, just like "Don't Speak," "Torn," and other pop songs featured on this list. But the song's definitive pop signature is its best element: one of the best guitar riffs ever. And Metallica knew this was their masterpiece: they start the album with it, they set up the main tune with an ominous lead, and they shot one of the all-time greatest music videos to match it. As a marketing move, "Enter Sandman" is flawless.
It's even better as an actual song. Most Metallica songs discuss topics as weighty as war, drug abuse, and violence with the intellect of an eighth-grader. "Enter Sandman" strips away the pretensions to offer an alternative: pure fear. "Enter Sandman" gets back to heavy metal's roots as the genre of fear, using the Sandman as an access point to all the other themes Metallica handles less well. Yet it retreats just before the details emerge, turning the song into a perverse prayer to the nightmares latent within every young mind. It's so direct with its fear that it's impossible to not to have fun. Hell, James Hetfield even screams "boo!" after the final chorus.
Not to mention, those elements of Metallica that have always been good remain good. Kirk Hammett's lead guitar work and James Hetfield's riff work are as excellent as ever, with the former's guitar solo being quite possibly the best part of the song. Lars Ulrich, while an overrated drummer, gives a truly thunderous performance, a performance, unfortunately, that he'd do everything possible to tarnish on future releases. The production is also great, packing the full ferocity of Metallica's sound into a small space. The song is an assault upon the senses in the best way, tearing into the listener's mind and never letting go for a second.
"Enter Sandman" might be the "metal" tune beloved by people who don't like heavy metal, but it's ultimately the best representation of what non-extreme metal could be during the 1990s. Most every other hard rock band had to jump onto the grunge train in order to stay relevant, but Metallica managed to add some pop craft to their metal aesthetic to become more popular than ever. This song, in fact, was one of the main factors in the death of hair metal: it provided the first push against hair metal that Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden needed to finally bury the genre altogether. For that, even the most devoted of metal die-hards and metal haters owe this song credit. As for me, I'm just content to enjoy the only Metallica song I know with a true sense of structure and meaning.
25. "Firestarter" - The Prodigy
The 90s were the era of "cool." So many of the most important cultural icons of the period - the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Sonic the Hedgehog, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Kurt Cobain - billed themselves on the cool factor alone. In fact, there was so much "cool" paraphernalia and cultural figures around at the time that we tended to forget exactly what cool was supposed to be. "Cool" inspires awe merely by being in something's presence while also being subversive of cultural stereotypes. When "cool" is too omnipresent, then it ceases to be cool. This is why the Fonz from Happy Days is still cool in spite of him being a one-note stereotype that's laughable by today's standards; he was the only character of his type around at the time. Thus, in determining the "coolest" song of the 90s, one needs to consider the song that inspires a feeling of moral shock yet indescribable awe. Enter "Firestarter" by the Prodigy.
The Prodigy held a crucial place in the early EDM scene of the 90s, serving as a sort of middle ground between poppier groups like Fatboy Slim and the Chemical Brothers and the often terrifying and highly extreme sound of Apex Twin, the era's zaniest and least predictable EDM star. They wouldn't dare release a song and music video as scary as "Come To Daddy," but they would release grim material such as "Smack My B**** Up" and "Breathe." But the song that best demonstrates everything great about the group is "Firestarter," which begins with one of the coolest guitar riffs ever recorded. The riff is sampled from a song by the Breeders (a band previously featured on this list), but the Prodigy enhance the cut through adding distortion and surrounding the guitar in a wind tunnel-esque effect. The rave pulses of the rest of the track only serve to enhance the riff, the backing synths heralding the guitar as if it is a signal of impending doom. Yet, as cool as the guitar is for its own end, its main effect is setting up the sudden crash of drums that form the backbone of "Firestarter"'s verses and chorus. The sense of build forms one of the most thrilling beats of the decade, one that tears up dance floors to this day.
Just as important as the production and backing beat is the Prodigy's lead singer, Keith Flint. The Prodigy distinguished themselves from their fellow rave peers through having a lead singer with his own unique persona, and Keith Flint's is certainly one of the most effective of the 90s: violent braggadocio that is wholly self-aware. When initial British pop critics condemned "Firestarter" for lyrics with violent content, they clearly were not in on the joke, as Flint's claims are far too over the top to be taken seriously. "I'm the bitch you hated, filth infatuated/I'm the pain you tasted, self-intoxicated" - these are lines written by schoolyard bullies, not seriously violent criminals. Flint even makes himself look like a Billy Idol knock-off in the music video: that's the quintessential look of a false punk. Yet this joke only manages to make the Prodigy more endearing: it's as if, in spite of all the cool factor, the Prodigy are aware that coolness and toughness only go so far. They seem to point to their own limitations as a dance group through their image itself.
As "Firestarter" creates a spiral in the ear, it manages to stake out its place in the canon of great 90s songs. Since it was the Prodigy's first major single, it lay the groundwork for all their other dark dance tracks, but it distinguishes itself through its punkish charm and tremendous guitar line. The song offers manic energy, transformative guitar effects, and vicious vocal delivery. It's everything that the best dance music of the 90s had to offer, from the best dance act of the period.
The Prodigy held a crucial place in the early EDM scene of the 90s, serving as a sort of middle ground between poppier groups like Fatboy Slim and the Chemical Brothers and the often terrifying and highly extreme sound of Apex Twin, the era's zaniest and least predictable EDM star. They wouldn't dare release a song and music video as scary as "Come To Daddy," but they would release grim material such as "Smack My B**** Up" and "Breathe." But the song that best demonstrates everything great about the group is "Firestarter," which begins with one of the coolest guitar riffs ever recorded. The riff is sampled from a song by the Breeders (a band previously featured on this list), but the Prodigy enhance the cut through adding distortion and surrounding the guitar in a wind tunnel-esque effect. The rave pulses of the rest of the track only serve to enhance the riff, the backing synths heralding the guitar as if it is a signal of impending doom. Yet, as cool as the guitar is for its own end, its main effect is setting up the sudden crash of drums that form the backbone of "Firestarter"'s verses and chorus. The sense of build forms one of the most thrilling beats of the decade, one that tears up dance floors to this day.
Just as important as the production and backing beat is the Prodigy's lead singer, Keith Flint. The Prodigy distinguished themselves from their fellow rave peers through having a lead singer with his own unique persona, and Keith Flint's is certainly one of the most effective of the 90s: violent braggadocio that is wholly self-aware. When initial British pop critics condemned "Firestarter" for lyrics with violent content, they clearly were not in on the joke, as Flint's claims are far too over the top to be taken seriously. "I'm the bitch you hated, filth infatuated/I'm the pain you tasted, self-intoxicated" - these are lines written by schoolyard bullies, not seriously violent criminals. Flint even makes himself look like a Billy Idol knock-off in the music video: that's the quintessential look of a false punk. Yet this joke only manages to make the Prodigy more endearing: it's as if, in spite of all the cool factor, the Prodigy are aware that coolness and toughness only go so far. They seem to point to their own limitations as a dance group through their image itself.
As "Firestarter" creates a spiral in the ear, it manages to stake out its place in the canon of great 90s songs. Since it was the Prodigy's first major single, it lay the groundwork for all their other dark dance tracks, but it distinguishes itself through its punkish charm and tremendous guitar line. The song offers manic energy, transformative guitar effects, and vicious vocal delivery. It's everything that the best dance music of the 90s had to offer, from the best dance act of the period.
24. "A Design for Life" - Manic Street Preachers
The Manic Street Preachers were not the biggest Britpop band in the world: that was Oasis. Nor were the Manic Street Preachers the best Britpop band in the world: that title probably belongs to Suede or Blur. But the Manic Street Preachers were by far the most influential and musically diverse Britpop group. They were the first true Britpop group, starting out with post-punk EPs before evolving into the most melodically proficient Britpop band of the 1990s. Their guitar riffs and chorus arcs created the framework for all successful Britpop acts, and there's an argument to be made that their act has never been bettered. By all accounts, the Manics are one of the absolute best bands of their era, and I wholeheartedly endorse all of their material. "A Design for Life" is their magnum opus, the greatest arena Britpop song of them all.
"A Design for Life" was released on the Manics' 1996 album, Everything Must Go. Just months before, the band's rhythm guitarist and chief songwriter, Richey Edwards, disappeared; to date, he has not been found. Left without a frontman, songwriting duties fell to the bassist, Nicky Wire. Unsurprisingly, Wire suffered from trauma-induced writers' block, being unable to come up with any ideas in the wake of his close friend's disappearance, an event so tragic and emotionally frustrating that he couldn't even come up with many songs about the topic itself. Ultimately, he turned to the themes that had often defined the Manics' music: the merits of socialism and the dangers of political bureaucracy. The byproduct was a song inspired by Ennio Morricone, R.E.M., and Phil Spector, an ode to and a critique of the middle class.
"A Design for Life" negotiates its lyrical contradictions with remarkable elegance. The pre-chorus, perhaps the most iconic part of the song, castigates the upper classes who would dare to place glass ceilings upon the middle class: "and we are not allowed to spend/for we are told that this is the end." Yet the verses reveal a working class clinging to violence and alcohol as sources of meaning: "I wish I had a bottle right here in my dirty face/To wear the scars to show from where I came." The band's concludes that neither of these paths are moral. The only remaining path is "a design for life," not necessarily one of individuality or one of collectivity. I like to interpret the song as endorsing a design for life created by government for the purposes of the many and a design for life created by individuals for their own moral self-governance. The song balances feelings of both freedom and guidance; why should not the lyrical interpretation?
The melody of "A Design for Life" soars. The song is packed full of excellent guitar arpeggios and riffs, but the singing of James Dean Bradfield triumphs over all. Bradfield is the best singer of the Britpop bands, having an emotional range and vocal range unmatched by his peers. With him at the helm, the anthemic roar of "a design for life" whirls through the air. The drums and strings add tremendously to the ambience, generating a truly epic sentiment; this song should appeal to all, and the musical fulness reflects that appeal.
But perhaps my favorite part of "A Design for Life" is the song's composition. The song's verses predominantly feature seventh chords, which, while interesting to the ear by virtue of adding another note to the chord, don't provide any resolution; the pre-chorus and chorus, on the other hand, move to standard major and minor chords while constantly modulating keys. The song's chord progression completes a full circle (granted, not a circle of fifths, but a circle nonetheless) before heading back to C major. These small musical puns enhance an already tremendous song.
"A Design for Life" is a workers' anthem that wouldn't offend the staunchest of capitalist conservatives: the music is simply too good for anyone to take issue with it. Indeed, the only people who tend to dislike "A Design for Life" are those Manics' fans who think it draws too much attention away from the rest of the band's catalogue. While this is true, to some extent, I think the song's popularity is warranted. It's the only Manic Street Preachers' song that truly opens itself to a community with open arms as opposed to complete distrust and occasionally patronizing attitudes. This is not to say that the Manics' other songs are bad - far from it - but this is the one that can communicate with just about anyone. That's why it's one of the best Britpop songs ever.
23. "Only Shallow" - My Bloody Valentine
"Only Shallow" is the best shoegaze song ever. This is far from an unorthodox opinion, even within shoegaze circles, but it often does not pay enough credit to the development of shoegaze as a genre. The sound first emerged in the post-punk of the 70s band, Suicide, whose emphasis on guitar feedback created a misty aesthetic that overwhelmed the listener. In the 1980s, the Jesus and Mary Chain combined Suicide's noise with pop songwriting to come up with one of the most influential LPs of their era, Psychocandy. Simultaneously, Sonic Youth used intentionally distorted and dischordant guitar sounds to craft their 80s magnum opus, Daydream Nation. My Bloody Valentine's Loveless album combined both of these sounds to create music that sounded almost totally alien. One need only listen to the first few seconds of "Only Shallow" to realize the result.
The guitar riff to "Only Shallow" catches the listener completely off guard. The opening drum roll is the simplest pattern in music possible - a basic 4 quarter-note rhythm. Then, without warning, a guitar riff from the Andromeda galaxy plunges the listener into the song's ethereal universe. On a musical level, the guitar doesn't do very much, just shifting from the dominant to the supertonic in order to lead back to the main tonic chord. But, sonically, the guitar tone is ridiculously complex. To produce the desired effect, Kevin Shields placed a microphone between two guitar amps facing each other. The feedback loops from the amplified sound waves create one of the most shocking and stunning introductions to any song I've ever heard. The rest of the song just layers guitar texture upon guitar texture onto this haunting riff, to the point at which the song just might become crowded. Yet the simple I-V-I chord progression underneath grounds all of the sound into a cohesive musical idea.
That said, many My Bloody Valentine fans don't praise "Only Shallow" to the same extent as their other songs due to the relatively "shallow" lyrical content. "Only Shallow"'s lyrics describe sleeping with someone... and that's about it. There's no real sense of detail; the whole song might as well be called "sleep with someone as if she/he was a pillow." However, that sentiment matches the song's structure perfectly. The verses, sung by the sultry and mysterious Bilinda Butcher, have a calming presence after the sonic freak-out of the song's beginning. The melody practically lulls the listener into a sense of sleep, before the main guitar riff returns in a nightmarish fashion. Yet, should one listen to the guitar riff in a different context, that blare could suggest the passions of sex. The perfect fifth grounding the riff certainly creates a pulse. While the riff implies the physicality of the act, the verses imply the bliss and joy of the experience.
"Only Shallow" shook indie-rock to its core. To this day, Loveless is considered one of the greatest albums of the 90s, if not one of the greatest rock albums ever, merely for how much it changed listeners' expectations of what rock and roll could sound like. This song was a paradigm shift almost as powerful as Led Zeppelin's sonic freak-out in "Whole Lotta Love," the Kinks' power chord in "You Really Got Me," or the blindingly fast taps of Van Halen's "Eruption." This is the signature guitar moment of the decade, and for that, it deserves commemoration. The only reason this song isn't any higher is its relatively simple musical structure, but, on grounds of innovation alone, it deserves my praise.
22. "Katy Song" - Red House Painters
A great deal of this list's ranking did come down to personal opinion. While I do consider the one hundred songs on the list to be the best tracks of the 90s, the order is far less clear. It's with that in mind that I place the Red House Painters' "Katy Song" at 22, over "A Design for Life," "Only Shallow," "Enter Sandman," and several other dozen songs that have left a greater impact on musical culture than an indie break-up song from a band only Pitchfork nerds would know about. But I rank "Katy Song" so highly due to its effect on me: few break-up songs have ever moved me to tears, but "Katy Song" has. I'm admitting my bias here, but it's a bias that must give a truly spectacular song its due.
The Red House Painters were the first project of indie songwriting legend, Mark Kozelek. Kozelek is notorious in indie circles for practically defining the aesthetic of what most people see as indie rock: flat vocals, songwriting bordering on the pretentious, douche-y behavior, low keyed guitar lines. But even the staunchest of Mark Kozelek haters concede that his work with the Red House Painters is his best, and that "Katy Song" is his greatest work. Written in the aftermath of Kozelek's break-up with his girlfriend, "Katy Song" is a cutting admission of guilt. Kozelek is certain everything that went wrong is his fault, and, based on his comments, it's hard to not agree.
"Katy Song"'s main lyrical conceit is the structure of the verse: Mark Kozelek ends each phrase on the penultimate word of its logical grammatical ending, creating a feeling of emotional incompletion. This scheme also serves to pronounce the penultimate word, usually an adjective with negative connotations - "cutting," "blackest," "bleeding," "no," "pinches" - with "I" above all being the most pronounced word in the song. This "I" is a person who was unwilling to follow up his emotion with action, denying his love family, comfort, security, and, above all, equality. Mark Kozelek's greatest anger seems pointed at the fact he didn't love someone enough, as he was unwilling to make the sacrifices love demands. Now left without his love, he is but a bleeding heart "empty and bothered/watching the water/quiet in the corner/numb and falling through."
In between each verse, twin lead guitar solos create a mournful tango. The song's other elements fade as the melodies twinkle against each other. Sentiments of nostalgia, longing, mourning, and defeatism hang on each note, and the listener gets hooked on each dip and dive of the guitar. It's a stunning musical complement to the lyrics, giving us the backstory that the song's lyrics never admit. The greatest tragedy to the song is the clarity and beauty of the love that used to exist but was ultimately destroyed by one's person's apathy to the other's needs.
The outro to "Katy Song" is one of the most perfect of the 90s. Mark Kozelek is far from a great singer, and his song barely admits of emotion throughout the rest of the track, but he gives it his emotional all on the ending. The only words are "la la la la la," but it is as if Mark Kozelek is pouring his heart into each nonsense syllable. All the while, the pedals on the guitar lines go haywire, allowing feedback from each guitar pluck to reverberate throughout the track. The guitar tone gets more abrasive as well, with rapid strums illustrating our narrator's emotional breakdown. In the background, the bass line suggests the greatest tragedy: the narrator is only making the situation worse by inflicting all of his pain onto himself.
"Katy Song" is by far the most profound and genuine emotional statement in the Mark Kozelek catalogue. Though he has written hundreds of songs all claiming to be profound statements on humanity and the nature of love, "Katy Song" is the only one I know that earns its place in the indie rock canon unequivocally. If one is to come to enjoy Mark Kozelek's music, this is the song I recommend. It's one of the greatest break-up songs of the 90s, albeit not the saddest. That title belongs to...
The Red House Painters were the first project of indie songwriting legend, Mark Kozelek. Kozelek is notorious in indie circles for practically defining the aesthetic of what most people see as indie rock: flat vocals, songwriting bordering on the pretentious, douche-y behavior, low keyed guitar lines. But even the staunchest of Mark Kozelek haters concede that his work with the Red House Painters is his best, and that "Katy Song" is his greatest work. Written in the aftermath of Kozelek's break-up with his girlfriend, "Katy Song" is a cutting admission of guilt. Kozelek is certain everything that went wrong is his fault, and, based on his comments, it's hard to not agree.
"Katy Song"'s main lyrical conceit is the structure of the verse: Mark Kozelek ends each phrase on the penultimate word of its logical grammatical ending, creating a feeling of emotional incompletion. This scheme also serves to pronounce the penultimate word, usually an adjective with negative connotations - "cutting," "blackest," "bleeding," "no," "pinches" - with "I" above all being the most pronounced word in the song. This "I" is a person who was unwilling to follow up his emotion with action, denying his love family, comfort, security, and, above all, equality. Mark Kozelek's greatest anger seems pointed at the fact he didn't love someone enough, as he was unwilling to make the sacrifices love demands. Now left without his love, he is but a bleeding heart "empty and bothered/watching the water/quiet in the corner/numb and falling through."
In between each verse, twin lead guitar solos create a mournful tango. The song's other elements fade as the melodies twinkle against each other. Sentiments of nostalgia, longing, mourning, and defeatism hang on each note, and the listener gets hooked on each dip and dive of the guitar. It's a stunning musical complement to the lyrics, giving us the backstory that the song's lyrics never admit. The greatest tragedy to the song is the clarity and beauty of the love that used to exist but was ultimately destroyed by one's person's apathy to the other's needs.
The outro to "Katy Song" is one of the most perfect of the 90s. Mark Kozelek is far from a great singer, and his song barely admits of emotion throughout the rest of the track, but he gives it his emotional all on the ending. The only words are "la la la la la," but it is as if Mark Kozelek is pouring his heart into each nonsense syllable. All the while, the pedals on the guitar lines go haywire, allowing feedback from each guitar pluck to reverberate throughout the track. The guitar tone gets more abrasive as well, with rapid strums illustrating our narrator's emotional breakdown. In the background, the bass line suggests the greatest tragedy: the narrator is only making the situation worse by inflicting all of his pain onto himself.
"Katy Song" is by far the most profound and genuine emotional statement in the Mark Kozelek catalogue. Though he has written hundreds of songs all claiming to be profound statements on humanity and the nature of love, "Katy Song" is the only one I know that earns its place in the indie rock canon unequivocally. If one is to come to enjoy Mark Kozelek's music, this is the song I recommend. It's one of the greatest break-up songs of the 90s, albeit not the saddest. That title belongs to...
21. "I Can't Make You Love Me" - Bonnie Raitt
The adult alternative genre has become one of the most universally hated and mocked genres in all of 90s music. Looking at some of the most popular songs of the genre - Bryan Adams's "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You," Marc Cohn's "Walking in Memphis," and anything by Peabo Bryson or Michael Bolton - I can see why so many people hate it. Adult alternative thrives on being musically overwrought and lyrically simplistic and over sentimental: the only good quality it has going for it is top notch singing. But, when the right lyrics are paired up with the right singer, adult alternative can create some of the most powerful songs in the history of pop music. Bonnie Raitt's "I Can't Make You Love Me" is the high watermark of the genre, and it's one of the most heartbreaking songs in existence.
Bonnie Raitt always prided herself as one of the few girls in country rock who didn't just rock as good as the guys, but better than the guys. During her peak years in the 1970s, she didn't just outsing every man on the scene; she outplayed half of them on guitar. In fact, Bonnie Raitt is one of the most talented female guitar players in rock and roll history; her skill is rivaled only by legendary players like Joni Mitchell and Maybelle Carter. Yet "I Can't Make You Love Me" presents a different Bonnie Raitt than the one confidently rocking on "Something to Talk About." This is a Bonnie Raitt weary of love, her lover, and the world. Her voice and experience cuts through the entire recording, turning a record that would sound kitschy, trite, and cliché into one of the saddest songs one will ever hear.
The poetry of "I Can't Make You Love Me" is blunt and forceful. While "Katy Song" bolstered its sadness on the metrical conceit of its lyrics and delivery, "I Can't Make You Love Me" explains everything in the chorus: "I can't make you love me if you don't/You can't make your heart feel something it won't." The rhymes are practically childish, but the emotion is so understandable and undeniably real that one wouldn't dare question the sentiment. The passion behind Bonnie Raitt's singing adds layers upon layers of complexity to the emotions. Why doesn't he love her? It appears that the two people involved in the song had some degree of closeness prior to the realization, but just what was the relationship? A friendship that eventually turned into one-sided fondness? A relationship that is dying, in which this song is the final admission of defeat? If not for the excellence of the delivery, we would not ask ourselves these questions; fortunately for us, Bonnie Raitt tells the story with the purity only she can relate.
Musically, as well, "I Can't Make You Love Me" earns its place in the rock canon. The song is in the key of B flat major, making it yet another sad 90s song in a predominantly major key. Yet, in a startling turn, the verses never fully resolve, leaving the listener in a constant state of musical unease. Indeed, during the only time the tonic chord is actually featured, in the third beat of the third measure, it is in first inversion, leaving the song in a musically unstable place. Thus, the song intentionally drifts, allowing the emotional despair to sink in until the realization of grief in the chorus. Then, at the very end of the song, the piece modulates to F major, the key of the song's dominant chord, as if offering hope for what comes next. But, then before the listener can get any hope, the pianist adds the ninth of the new key, C, to add a little more instability. Such musical creativity combined with such powerful singing makes for a truly moving experience.
"I Can't Make You Love Me" is also one of few pop songs of the 1990s that has taken on the status of "pop standard." Yet, unlike its peers, it doesn't earn that title through hokey-ness or emotional dishonesty. Rather, the song's sheer elegance and musical cleverness make it work. The song hides its stunning emotional core under a sheen of cheesy production, but Bonnie Raitt's evocative voice lays it all bare for the listener to reach the song's emotional and musical core. Its impact might have lessened due to its being over performed on reality television, but, for its time, it became the quintessential song for all unrequited romances. It's a song that asked us not to patronize it as lovers and listeners: for that, it deserves my praise.
Bonnie Raitt always prided herself as one of the few girls in country rock who didn't just rock as good as the guys, but better than the guys. During her peak years in the 1970s, she didn't just outsing every man on the scene; she outplayed half of them on guitar. In fact, Bonnie Raitt is one of the most talented female guitar players in rock and roll history; her skill is rivaled only by legendary players like Joni Mitchell and Maybelle Carter. Yet "I Can't Make You Love Me" presents a different Bonnie Raitt than the one confidently rocking on "Something to Talk About." This is a Bonnie Raitt weary of love, her lover, and the world. Her voice and experience cuts through the entire recording, turning a record that would sound kitschy, trite, and cliché into one of the saddest songs one will ever hear.
The poetry of "I Can't Make You Love Me" is blunt and forceful. While "Katy Song" bolstered its sadness on the metrical conceit of its lyrics and delivery, "I Can't Make You Love Me" explains everything in the chorus: "I can't make you love me if you don't/You can't make your heart feel something it won't." The rhymes are practically childish, but the emotion is so understandable and undeniably real that one wouldn't dare question the sentiment. The passion behind Bonnie Raitt's singing adds layers upon layers of complexity to the emotions. Why doesn't he love her? It appears that the two people involved in the song had some degree of closeness prior to the realization, but just what was the relationship? A friendship that eventually turned into one-sided fondness? A relationship that is dying, in which this song is the final admission of defeat? If not for the excellence of the delivery, we would not ask ourselves these questions; fortunately for us, Bonnie Raitt tells the story with the purity only she can relate.
Musically, as well, "I Can't Make You Love Me" earns its place in the rock canon. The song is in the key of B flat major, making it yet another sad 90s song in a predominantly major key. Yet, in a startling turn, the verses never fully resolve, leaving the listener in a constant state of musical unease. Indeed, during the only time the tonic chord is actually featured, in the third beat of the third measure, it is in first inversion, leaving the song in a musically unstable place. Thus, the song intentionally drifts, allowing the emotional despair to sink in until the realization of grief in the chorus. Then, at the very end of the song, the piece modulates to F major, the key of the song's dominant chord, as if offering hope for what comes next. But, then before the listener can get any hope, the pianist adds the ninth of the new key, C, to add a little more instability. Such musical creativity combined with such powerful singing makes for a truly moving experience.
"I Can't Make You Love Me" is also one of few pop songs of the 1990s that has taken on the status of "pop standard." Yet, unlike its peers, it doesn't earn that title through hokey-ness or emotional dishonesty. Rather, the song's sheer elegance and musical cleverness make it work. The song hides its stunning emotional core under a sheen of cheesy production, but Bonnie Raitt's evocative voice lays it all bare for the listener to reach the song's emotional and musical core. Its impact might have lessened due to its being over performed on reality television, but, for its time, it became the quintessential song for all unrequited romances. It's a song that asked us not to patronize it as lovers and listeners: for that, it deserves my praise.
