And Iiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeiiiiii will always... try to finish this list on time!
40. "Everlong" - Foo Fighters
At first glance, "Everlong" sounds like a generic grunge song by a generic grunge group. Indeed, though the Foo Fighters certainly have longevity, they're far from the most talented or creative grunge group. Dave Grohl's songwriting typically operates at the 6/10 level, being overly reliant on standard pop/rock chords and lyrical clichés. But "Everlong" transcends most of these clichés to create one of the most endearing and popular rock songs of the 90s. People love this song, from online music critics like Todd Nathanson to legendary late night comedian David Letterman. Indeed, "Everlong" played out David Letterman's very last Late Show. Why? Well, in the pantheon of great grunge songs, "Everlong" has a pathos that is truly hard to match.
In many ways, "Everlong" is the stereotypical grunge song: vague lyrics, soft verses, loud chorus, dark aesthetic, distorted guitars, scraped vocals. But "Everlong" operates on a grander scale than most other grunge songs. Nothing feels forced or false: every strum of the guitar and strike of the drum skins is intentional and emotional. The build-up to the chorus might just be the finest in grunge history, shifting from verses dependent on suspended chords to a major key chorus. The main riff incorporates slight funk elements, accentuating each beat as to produce a choppy feeling only resolved by the legato of the main melody. The climax is practically jubilant, a moment of musical bliss.
Yet, within all this, what exactly is "Everlong" really about? In simple terms, "Everlong" is a rock and roll love song, or, to be unnecessarily more specific, a grunge love song. It's a desperate song of two people, both wild, hopeless, possibly drunk, deciding to have the night of their lives. In one moment of sexual bliss, all else fades away: "And I wonder.../if everything could ever feel this real forever/if anything could ever be this good again." As I see it though, "Everlong" is much more sinister than its beautiful chorus would make it out to be: after all, the song nearly always retreats back into suspended chords and the final cadence is imperfect. The key part of the interpretation is the sentence, "she sang." Most people interpret this term to mean that Dave Grohl is enjoying the full beauty of the moment, as if the girl is singing. However, as I see it, the "she sang" could imply that all the other lyrics are sung not by Dave Grohl, but by the girl. Perhaps the girl is the only one experiencing feeling, and Dave Grohl is merely recanting her experiences. Is "Everlong," then, the reflection of someone who is apathetic while in a brief relationship with someone who is elated, or is it the somber reflection of someone remembering the one other person in his life who's ever expressed true joy or happiness? Either way, "Everlong" becomes a far more somber affair when this latter interpretation comes into play.
While the lyrics to "Everlong" are quite powerful, the musicianship is the true "champion" here. Dave Grohl might not be an expert guitarist, but the layering of his guitar with Pat Smear's is extremely effective; the rhythm-lead guitar combination never fails. The drums, though, are where "Everlong" truly shines. Hi-hat trills haven't sounded so frantic since Joy Division's "Transmission." Contrary to popular belief, Dave Grohl is not the best drummer of the 90s (that would be Matt Cameron of Soundgarden and Pearl Jam), but he is nonetheless a fantastic one. His performance here is probably his most definitive. The bass is steady and pulsing, providing a strong aesthetic to the song. Best of all, the band actually has a real sense of crescendo, building up each chorus slightly more than the last. When most songs are content to merely repeat the chorus with no variation, the Foo Fighters went the next step and made the song truly dynamic.
"Everlong" is far and away the Foo Fighters' crowning achievement. While the band's 2000s output is far from terrible, nothing comes close to "Everlong"'s legacy. Perhaps every slightly above average deserves one truly extraordinary song within an otherwise standard output, such as Carly Simon's "You're So Vain," Bob Seger's "Night Moves," and Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'." "Everlong" is the grunge song nearly everyone loves. Indeed, as with "Nothing Compares 2 U," I've never heard of someone who can bring themselves to hate this song. It's an excellent grunge song from an otherwise fairly decent rock band.
In many ways, "Everlong" is the stereotypical grunge song: vague lyrics, soft verses, loud chorus, dark aesthetic, distorted guitars, scraped vocals. But "Everlong" operates on a grander scale than most other grunge songs. Nothing feels forced or false: every strum of the guitar and strike of the drum skins is intentional and emotional. The build-up to the chorus might just be the finest in grunge history, shifting from verses dependent on suspended chords to a major key chorus. The main riff incorporates slight funk elements, accentuating each beat as to produce a choppy feeling only resolved by the legato of the main melody. The climax is practically jubilant, a moment of musical bliss.
Yet, within all this, what exactly is "Everlong" really about? In simple terms, "Everlong" is a rock and roll love song, or, to be unnecessarily more specific, a grunge love song. It's a desperate song of two people, both wild, hopeless, possibly drunk, deciding to have the night of their lives. In one moment of sexual bliss, all else fades away: "And I wonder.../if everything could ever feel this real forever/if anything could ever be this good again." As I see it though, "Everlong" is much more sinister than its beautiful chorus would make it out to be: after all, the song nearly always retreats back into suspended chords and the final cadence is imperfect. The key part of the interpretation is the sentence, "she sang." Most people interpret this term to mean that Dave Grohl is enjoying the full beauty of the moment, as if the girl is singing. However, as I see it, the "she sang" could imply that all the other lyrics are sung not by Dave Grohl, but by the girl. Perhaps the girl is the only one experiencing feeling, and Dave Grohl is merely recanting her experiences. Is "Everlong," then, the reflection of someone who is apathetic while in a brief relationship with someone who is elated, or is it the somber reflection of someone remembering the one other person in his life who's ever expressed true joy or happiness? Either way, "Everlong" becomes a far more somber affair when this latter interpretation comes into play.
While the lyrics to "Everlong" are quite powerful, the musicianship is the true "champion" here. Dave Grohl might not be an expert guitarist, but the layering of his guitar with Pat Smear's is extremely effective; the rhythm-lead guitar combination never fails. The drums, though, are where "Everlong" truly shines. Hi-hat trills haven't sounded so frantic since Joy Division's "Transmission." Contrary to popular belief, Dave Grohl is not the best drummer of the 90s (that would be Matt Cameron of Soundgarden and Pearl Jam), but he is nonetheless a fantastic one. His performance here is probably his most definitive. The bass is steady and pulsing, providing a strong aesthetic to the song. Best of all, the band actually has a real sense of crescendo, building up each chorus slightly more than the last. When most songs are content to merely repeat the chorus with no variation, the Foo Fighters went the next step and made the song truly dynamic.
"Everlong" is far and away the Foo Fighters' crowning achievement. While the band's 2000s output is far from terrible, nothing comes close to "Everlong"'s legacy. Perhaps every slightly above average deserves one truly extraordinary song within an otherwise standard output, such as Carly Simon's "You're So Vain," Bob Seger's "Night Moves," and Tom Petty's "Free Fallin'." "Everlong" is the grunge song nearly everyone loves. Indeed, as with "Nothing Compares 2 U," I've never heard of someone who can bring themselves to hate this song. It's an excellent grunge song from an otherwise fairly decent rock band.
39. "It Was a Good Day" - Ice Cube
My personal favorite rhetorical device is praeteritio: the process of communicating a message by explicitly stating that one will not communicate that message. Think along the lines of a politician stating "I need not discuss my opponent's inconsistent record on gun control" in the middle of a larger speech. Ice Cube's "It Was a Good Day" is an entire song of praeteritio. The lyrics themselves are not particularly extraordinary in and of themselves, but the entire song gains its power through the story that it does not tell. One can merely look at the song as if it is re-telling a better than average day, or one can see it as a song desperately trying to escape a life that is practically hell on earth.
Ice Cube is an alumnus from one of the most influential (more in terms of their membership than what they actually did; Public Enemy did beat them to the punch) groups in hip-hop history: N.W.A. He was the first to leave the group, establishing perhaps the single most consistent career of any member of the group. After all, he was the group's original lyricist. Albums like Amerikkka's Most Wanted and Death Certificate still hold up as some of the best rap records of the 90s. Most of their success comes from Ice Cube's dominant persona. His flow is typically commanding and furious, immediately drawing in the listener's attention. After all, this is the man who delivered the first verse on "F*** tha Police." But "It Was a Good Day" is practically somber in its flow. Ice Cube's inflections are pronounced and his rhythms are strong, but a sense of defeatism lingers throughout the piece, as if all the joys of this one day are about to disappear.
The lyrics of "It Was a Good Day" are particularly heavy. Most of the song recants the simple pleasures of the day - a non-Muslim mother finally paying attention to her son's fasting principles, a fun game of basketball, watching rap music videos. But, every so often, "good" ceases to be come "good"; rather, it simply becomes the absence of "bad": "Hooked it up for later as I hit the door/Thinking, 'Will I live another twenty-four?,'" "Plus, nobody I know got killed in central L.A./Today was a good day," "Cause just yesterday them fools tried to blast me/Saw the police and they rolled right past me." When the pleasure of not having one's life at risk ranks up with the simple joys of life as "good things," one knows Ice Cube is living a dangerous and spiritually draining life. The coup de grace comes in the last verse, in which Ice Cube almost enters a dreamlike fantasy, in which he drives around drunk and sees in the sky "the Goodyear Blimp, and it read 'Ice Cube's a pimp.'" Of course, this is fantasy, as if Ice Cube is wishing for something more: fame, repeated sexual prowess, something to recognize his existence beyond his brief time on earth. Finally, Ice Cube comes back to reality with the most sobering line of them all: "Today I didn't even have to use my A.K./I got to say it was a good day." It's a punch to the gut after a fairly grandiose and arrogant final verse.
The music for "It Was a Good Day" is fittingly somber. The song revolves around a sample of the Isley Brothers' "Go for Your Guns," taking the opening guitar run and turning it into a descending drone. While the original riff serves to set up the sexual nature of the Isley Brothers track, the revised sample practically dies away each time it is repeated, showing the decay of a beautiful day into an empty remainder. "It Was a Good Day" even quotes the "ooh wah" vocal at the beginning of "Go for Your Guns," but it, too, is updated. The original is a breath of sexual calm; the rap version is a sigh of defeat. Though the guitar is bright, the descending melodic line ultimately creates a depressing atmosphere.
"It Was a Good Day" quickly became one of the most legendary hip hop tracks of the 1990s. Sadly, it seems to have only become as popular as it has due to its not having as much swearing as its actual tremendous quality. Furthermore, most people don't see "It Was a Good Day" for as dark a song as it actually is. Yet I love "It Was a Good Day" for telling the listener all about its harsh reality without offering a single word on the subject. It's an oration of which Cicero would be proud.
Ice Cube is an alumnus from one of the most influential (more in terms of their membership than what they actually did; Public Enemy did beat them to the punch) groups in hip-hop history: N.W.A. He was the first to leave the group, establishing perhaps the single most consistent career of any member of the group. After all, he was the group's original lyricist. Albums like Amerikkka's Most Wanted and Death Certificate still hold up as some of the best rap records of the 90s. Most of their success comes from Ice Cube's dominant persona. His flow is typically commanding and furious, immediately drawing in the listener's attention. After all, this is the man who delivered the first verse on "F*** tha Police." But "It Was a Good Day" is practically somber in its flow. Ice Cube's inflections are pronounced and his rhythms are strong, but a sense of defeatism lingers throughout the piece, as if all the joys of this one day are about to disappear.
The lyrics of "It Was a Good Day" are particularly heavy. Most of the song recants the simple pleasures of the day - a non-Muslim mother finally paying attention to her son's fasting principles, a fun game of basketball, watching rap music videos. But, every so often, "good" ceases to be come "good"; rather, it simply becomes the absence of "bad": "Hooked it up for later as I hit the door/Thinking, 'Will I live another twenty-four?,'" "Plus, nobody I know got killed in central L.A./Today was a good day," "Cause just yesterday them fools tried to blast me/Saw the police and they rolled right past me." When the pleasure of not having one's life at risk ranks up with the simple joys of life as "good things," one knows Ice Cube is living a dangerous and spiritually draining life. The coup de grace comes in the last verse, in which Ice Cube almost enters a dreamlike fantasy, in which he drives around drunk and sees in the sky "the Goodyear Blimp, and it read 'Ice Cube's a pimp.'" Of course, this is fantasy, as if Ice Cube is wishing for something more: fame, repeated sexual prowess, something to recognize his existence beyond his brief time on earth. Finally, Ice Cube comes back to reality with the most sobering line of them all: "Today I didn't even have to use my A.K./I got to say it was a good day." It's a punch to the gut after a fairly grandiose and arrogant final verse.
The music for "It Was a Good Day" is fittingly somber. The song revolves around a sample of the Isley Brothers' "Go for Your Guns," taking the opening guitar run and turning it into a descending drone. While the original riff serves to set up the sexual nature of the Isley Brothers track, the revised sample practically dies away each time it is repeated, showing the decay of a beautiful day into an empty remainder. "It Was a Good Day" even quotes the "ooh wah" vocal at the beginning of "Go for Your Guns," but it, too, is updated. The original is a breath of sexual calm; the rap version is a sigh of defeat. Though the guitar is bright, the descending melodic line ultimately creates a depressing atmosphere.
"It Was a Good Day" quickly became one of the most legendary hip hop tracks of the 1990s. Sadly, it seems to have only become as popular as it has due to its not having as much swearing as its actual tremendous quality. Furthermore, most people don't see "It Was a Good Day" for as dark a song as it actually is. Yet I love "It Was a Good Day" for telling the listener all about its harsh reality without offering a single word on the subject. It's an oration of which Cicero would be proud.
38. "Buddy Holly" - Weezer
Oh, Weezer. Such an easy band to like but such a hard band to love. This is the band that gave us the classic Weezer (Blue Album), the edgy Pinkerton, and the fun Weezer (Green Album). They've also given us the disappointing Weezer (Red Album) and the nigh unlistenable Raditude. That said, those latter two albums both came when the band had long since passed its prime: they're a classic case of a great band aging badly. But their older material sounds as good now as it did back in 1994. Though indie fans seem tilted towards "Say It Ain't So" and "Undone (The Sweater Song)," I have always had more fondness for "Buddy Holly." And it's not just because I'm a big Buddy Holly Fan or because it has one of the best music videos in history: no, I've chosen "Buddy Holly" because it represents Weezer at their musical and emotional peak.
"Buddy Holly" takes a tremendous risk from the bat: the rhythm is practically static. The entire song proceeds along a single guitar chug accentuating every beat - the same rhythmic technique as used by terrible post-grunge bands like Nickelback and Creed (granted, neither of those bands were popular yet, but that's aside the point). But, somehow, "Buddy Holly" makes it work. I think the musical strength comes down to two key factors: the strength of the melody and the slight variations. Rivers Cuomo is one of the strongest melodists still working in rock music; the static rhythms of "Buddy Holly" serve to enhance his melodic line. The production makes the singing pop even when Cuomo's voice cracks. Additionally, each verse and chorus does something slightly different. Be it the tremolo on the synthesizer after the first stanza, the distorted guitar twangs on the bridge, or the syncopated rhythm in the final chorus, each little change-up to the routine gives "Buddy Holly" a bit more personality.
Indeed, if "Buddy Holly" has one thing, it's personality. Rivers Cuomo has never disguised the neediness of Weezer. Now, if "Everlong" is a grunge fan's love song, "Buddy Holly" is a nerd's love song. The narrator of "Buddy Holly" knows he is dating (or is at least close friends with) a girl who is far out of his league. This explains the juxtaposition of him as Buddy Holly and the girl as Mary Tyler Moore: she is a confident feminist icon who ruled 30 years of television, whereas he is a doofy 50s rock and roll star. The song is deliberately awkward: it's clear that the narrator is joking when he describes his naysayers as "homies." He knows he's not "gangster" enough to use that word without sounding like a moron. But he's embraced his silly, uncool nature to the point where he ends up incredibly endearing. In fact, the character is so good that I can ignore Rivers Cuomo's genuinely terrible singing.
Weezer are best when they are writing simple pop ditties imbued with hidden character; "Buddy Holly" is the apex of their songwriting and artistic craft. The band doesn't aspire to be much greater than what they are: a fun band for college kids seeking an emotional release. Certainly, Pinkerton put listeners at a shock, but that's a pleasant aberration from Weezer's other work. It's songs like "Buddy Holly" that Weezer does better than anybody else: for that, they make their way into the upper half of the list.
"Buddy Holly" takes a tremendous risk from the bat: the rhythm is practically static. The entire song proceeds along a single guitar chug accentuating every beat - the same rhythmic technique as used by terrible post-grunge bands like Nickelback and Creed (granted, neither of those bands were popular yet, but that's aside the point). But, somehow, "Buddy Holly" makes it work. I think the musical strength comes down to two key factors: the strength of the melody and the slight variations. Rivers Cuomo is one of the strongest melodists still working in rock music; the static rhythms of "Buddy Holly" serve to enhance his melodic line. The production makes the singing pop even when Cuomo's voice cracks. Additionally, each verse and chorus does something slightly different. Be it the tremolo on the synthesizer after the first stanza, the distorted guitar twangs on the bridge, or the syncopated rhythm in the final chorus, each little change-up to the routine gives "Buddy Holly" a bit more personality.
Indeed, if "Buddy Holly" has one thing, it's personality. Rivers Cuomo has never disguised the neediness of Weezer. Now, if "Everlong" is a grunge fan's love song, "Buddy Holly" is a nerd's love song. The narrator of "Buddy Holly" knows he is dating (or is at least close friends with) a girl who is far out of his league. This explains the juxtaposition of him as Buddy Holly and the girl as Mary Tyler Moore: she is a confident feminist icon who ruled 30 years of television, whereas he is a doofy 50s rock and roll star. The song is deliberately awkward: it's clear that the narrator is joking when he describes his naysayers as "homies." He knows he's not "gangster" enough to use that word without sounding like a moron. But he's embraced his silly, uncool nature to the point where he ends up incredibly endearing. In fact, the character is so good that I can ignore Rivers Cuomo's genuinely terrible singing.
Weezer are best when they are writing simple pop ditties imbued with hidden character; "Buddy Holly" is the apex of their songwriting and artistic craft. The band doesn't aspire to be much greater than what they are: a fun band for college kids seeking an emotional release. Certainly, Pinkerton put listeners at a shock, but that's a pleasant aberration from Weezer's other work. It's songs like "Buddy Holly" that Weezer does better than anybody else: for that, they make their way into the upper half of the list.
37. "Black" - Pearl Jam
Pearl Jam is one of the four artists with more than one song on this list. Does this mean Pearl Jam is the best of the grunge groups? No. Rather, Pearl Jam is the grunge group with the most diverse sound. On the one hand, they are a standard Seattle grunge group - albeit with better songwriting craft than most of their temporaries. On the other, they're the primer arena rock band of the 90s. We'll take a look at this latter persona later on in the countdown, but let's focus first on their grunge sound. A lot of songs come to mind - "Betterman," "Daughter," "Yellow Ledbetter" - but "Black" ultimately leaves the greatest impact on the romantically-inclined listener. For few songs capture the feeling of unrequited love so well as this one.
"Black" first appears on Ten as a sort of denouement to the previous song, the hard-hitting "Why Go." Stone Gossard makes the guitar sound as if played through an old, static-filled radio, much like David Gilmour on "Wish You Were Here." Though the tone of the instruments improves throughout the song, even incorporating heavier power chords, the somber tone is sustained throughout. My personal favorite musical feature is the tripling of the melodic line: Eddie Vedder's singing, Rick Parashar's piano, and Mike McCready's lead guitar. When all three parts sync up on the chorus, the effect is both bleak and magical.
"Black" also epitomizes all of Pearl Jam's "unique" (as in "easily mockable") elements, as in the case of Eddie Vedder's singing and lyric writing. Eddie Vedder isn't that bad a singer, as he certainly has great control of his resonance chamber. However, he complements his good resonance with having terrible vowel formation, creating blended diphthongs that are admittedly fun to impersonate. "Black" features Vedder at his most vocally over-the-top: it is somewhat funny hearing him pronounce "everything" like "ehvereethaaeeeang." The lyrics too are somewhat pretentious and overly inclined towards postmodern silliness: "all five horizons revolved around her soul." There's more than one horizon? The horizon can revolve around something? The details are very shallow; thus, I can see why someone might actually dislike "Black."
Yet I maintain that "Black" is great in spite of and because of its silliest elements. The song hinges on its incredible ending: a whirlwind of screams, guitar pulses, descending lines, and an interminable chord progression. The first half of the song is very much an "arty" teen's love song, using shallow imagery to try to communicate the feeling of loneliness. Yet, in the very end, the sheer agony breaks through: "I know someday you'll have a beautiful life/I know you'll be a star in someone else's sky/But why, why, why can't it be mine?" In that moment, all the pretentiousness dissolves a way, as if the narrator has finally truly come to terms with his grief. He can't hide it in purple prose; it simply must break forth in a virtual burst of sobbing. The whole band plays into the feeling, creating an atmosphere of chaos as the song's structure practically breaks down.
"Black" is one of the emotional centers of Pearl Jam's career, becoming one of the band's most popular songs in spite of them intentionally not releasing the song as a single. Eddie Vedder did not want "Black" to be tainted by the hands of studio execs who would try to alter the track for radio time. But raw emotional power can bring attention to any song, even if the band is actively trying to dull its success. "Black" has become one of the most acclaimed grunge songs ever, overshadowing many of Pearl Jam's actual singles. It's a classic grunge song in which the spirit overcomes the lyrics to produce one of the most moving experiences in 90s music.
"Black" first appears on Ten as a sort of denouement to the previous song, the hard-hitting "Why Go." Stone Gossard makes the guitar sound as if played through an old, static-filled radio, much like David Gilmour on "Wish You Were Here." Though the tone of the instruments improves throughout the song, even incorporating heavier power chords, the somber tone is sustained throughout. My personal favorite musical feature is the tripling of the melodic line: Eddie Vedder's singing, Rick Parashar's piano, and Mike McCready's lead guitar. When all three parts sync up on the chorus, the effect is both bleak and magical.
"Black" also epitomizes all of Pearl Jam's "unique" (as in "easily mockable") elements, as in the case of Eddie Vedder's singing and lyric writing. Eddie Vedder isn't that bad a singer, as he certainly has great control of his resonance chamber. However, he complements his good resonance with having terrible vowel formation, creating blended diphthongs that are admittedly fun to impersonate. "Black" features Vedder at his most vocally over-the-top: it is somewhat funny hearing him pronounce "everything" like "ehvereethaaeeeang." The lyrics too are somewhat pretentious and overly inclined towards postmodern silliness: "all five horizons revolved around her soul." There's more than one horizon? The horizon can revolve around something? The details are very shallow; thus, I can see why someone might actually dislike "Black."
Yet I maintain that "Black" is great in spite of and because of its silliest elements. The song hinges on its incredible ending: a whirlwind of screams, guitar pulses, descending lines, and an interminable chord progression. The first half of the song is very much an "arty" teen's love song, using shallow imagery to try to communicate the feeling of loneliness. Yet, in the very end, the sheer agony breaks through: "I know someday you'll have a beautiful life/I know you'll be a star in someone else's sky/But why, why, why can't it be mine?" In that moment, all the pretentiousness dissolves a way, as if the narrator has finally truly come to terms with his grief. He can't hide it in purple prose; it simply must break forth in a virtual burst of sobbing. The whole band plays into the feeling, creating an atmosphere of chaos as the song's structure practically breaks down.
"Black" is one of the emotional centers of Pearl Jam's career, becoming one of the band's most popular songs in spite of them intentionally not releasing the song as a single. Eddie Vedder did not want "Black" to be tainted by the hands of studio execs who would try to alter the track for radio time. But raw emotional power can bring attention to any song, even if the band is actively trying to dull its success. "Black" has become one of the most acclaimed grunge songs ever, overshadowing many of Pearl Jam's actual singles. It's a classic grunge song in which the spirit overcomes the lyrics to produce one of the most moving experiences in 90s music.
36. "I See a Darkness" - Bonnie "Prince" Billy
Can a song be depressing and joyful at the same time? If it is possible, then "I See a Darkness" is certainly the epitome of the genre. Most music critics praise only the bleakness of the original track; after all, this song is so dark and gloomy that not even a dying Johnny Cash could make a darker version. But those same critics seem to ignore the self-affirming elements at work in this track. Though much of my interpretation of "I See a Darkness" hinges on Will Oldham's re-imagining of this track from 2012's Now Here's My Plan, I do think the more hopeful perspective on the 90s "most depressing" song brings some subtler elements to light.
Upon first listen, "I See a Darkness" reeks of all the bad elements of indie music. It's a white guy with an acoustic guitar, singing a song about pain and depression, using a small recording space, and singing with a flat voice. Hell, the eponymous album "I See a Darkness" comes from got a 10.0/10.0 from Pitchfork, the online magazine that epitomizes the excesses of the indie genre, upon release no less; those albums never stand up to time. Yet, as a song at least, "I See a Darkness" deserves the accolades: unlike most of its indie rock brethren, it drips with sincerity. Even better, its pain is actually expressed intelligently and subtly.
Much of "I See a Darkness" takes place within the narrator's mind, with Will Oldham's singing all the main lyrics of the song, with a background vocalist singing his true thoughts in the background: "Well, you're my friend (that's what you told me/and can you see (what's inside of me)." Though Oldham is able to discuss his depression with his friend, he knows no one can see his true thoughts other than himself. The darkness looms throughout all the verses, an empty pit of depression. Yet, oddly enough, the chorus - the part of the song that ultimately expresses the awareness of this darkness - is major and practically hopeful. How does this work?
As I see it, "I See a Darkness" uses its almost bright chorus to make an important statement about the self in relation to both depression and others. Depression is an undeniably frightening and terrible phenomenon, one unwishable upon anyone. However, emerging from that depression can give someone a greater sense of the self, an awareness of oneself in relation to one's mind and the outside world. The chorus of "I See a Darkness" seems to be an awakening from the depression, with Oldham realizing the love others have for him, if at least Platonically, in addition to gaining a sense of self in relation to the rest of the world. Such an explanation serves to justify the more upbeat 2012 version of the song. Many critics have called it too upbeat: as I see it, Oldham is accentuating the more hopeful elements of the song for an age that generally requires more hope than the 90s.
"I See a Darkness" might be bleak, but it's a far more profound song than its indie label and dark lyrics would suggest. It's an anthem of depression, a rallying cry for facing the pain that we face rather than a song merely about wallowing in one's misery. As a result, it's much more effective than other sad songs of the 90s. I've known people who have legitimately used both versions of this song to face their own difficulties and come out stronger for it. For that, I'm forever in this song's debt.
Upon first listen, "I See a Darkness" reeks of all the bad elements of indie music. It's a white guy with an acoustic guitar, singing a song about pain and depression, using a small recording space, and singing with a flat voice. Hell, the eponymous album "I See a Darkness" comes from got a 10.0/10.0 from Pitchfork, the online magazine that epitomizes the excesses of the indie genre, upon release no less; those albums never stand up to time. Yet, as a song at least, "I See a Darkness" deserves the accolades: unlike most of its indie rock brethren, it drips with sincerity. Even better, its pain is actually expressed intelligently and subtly.
Much of "I See a Darkness" takes place within the narrator's mind, with Will Oldham's singing all the main lyrics of the song, with a background vocalist singing his true thoughts in the background: "Well, you're my friend (that's what you told me/and can you see (what's inside of me)." Though Oldham is able to discuss his depression with his friend, he knows no one can see his true thoughts other than himself. The darkness looms throughout all the verses, an empty pit of depression. Yet, oddly enough, the chorus - the part of the song that ultimately expresses the awareness of this darkness - is major and practically hopeful. How does this work?
As I see it, "I See a Darkness" uses its almost bright chorus to make an important statement about the self in relation to both depression and others. Depression is an undeniably frightening and terrible phenomenon, one unwishable upon anyone. However, emerging from that depression can give someone a greater sense of the self, an awareness of oneself in relation to one's mind and the outside world. The chorus of "I See a Darkness" seems to be an awakening from the depression, with Oldham realizing the love others have for him, if at least Platonically, in addition to gaining a sense of self in relation to the rest of the world. Such an explanation serves to justify the more upbeat 2012 version of the song. Many critics have called it too upbeat: as I see it, Oldham is accentuating the more hopeful elements of the song for an age that generally requires more hope than the 90s.
"I See a Darkness" might be bleak, but it's a far more profound song than its indie label and dark lyrics would suggest. It's an anthem of depression, a rallying cry for facing the pain that we face rather than a song merely about wallowing in one's misery. As a result, it's much more effective than other sad songs of the 90s. I've known people who have legitimately used both versions of this song to face their own difficulties and come out stronger for it. For that, I'm forever in this song's debt.
35. "Basket Case" - Green Day
I understand the Green Day hate. To an extent, I, too, hate Green Day. They favor their image over their authenticity. Their songwriting is inconsistent. Their album work ranges from the mediocre (American Idiot) to the lamentable (21st Century Breakdown). Their fans are practically rabid in their adoration, paying no heed to any of the many legitimate criticisms one can levee at the band. They have overshadowed many other, better punk bands.
That said, if not for the Buzzcocks' Singles Going Steady, I'd be hard pressed to find a better pop punk album than Dookie. And, if not for, well, anything by the Buzzcocks, I'd be hard pressed to find a better pop punk song than "Basket Case."
"Basket Case" has plenty of personality from the very first note, starting with solo voice and electric guitar: it's a daring opening for a punk song. After all, even the Buzzcocks, the grandfathers and masters of pop punk, wouldn't start a song with such a cold open. From there on out, "Basket Case" just keeps growing. Tré Cool practically turns the snare drum into a machine gun with blisteringly fast paradiddles, while Billie Joe Armstrong steps up the power chords. Meanwhile, Mike Dirnt adds the cool factor with a few snide-centered bass runs. "Basket Case" might be about madness, but it certainly expresses said madness with swagger and and fury. The entire band operates at full steam throughout the entire track: something that cannot be said of their other good, but not great, hits like "Longview" and "When I Come Around." "Basket Case" just tries harder.
Lyrically, "Basket Case" is also the strongest song on Dookie. "Do you have the time to listen to me whine" is perhaps the most classic opening line of a post-70s punk song: it presents a narrator that is at once obnoxious yet deeply aware of his own flaws. The narrator of "Basket Case" is, in all likelihood, not insane. Rather, he's just young and frustrated, and his parents would prefer to medicate him rather than solve his problems. Psychiatrists use self-fulfilling Freudian psychoanalysis to criticize his sex life. Prostitutes bemoan his lack of care about sex and overemphasis on his emotions. In all likelihood, the narrator is just going through an emotional phase. The bridge is the lynch-pin here: "Grasping to control, so I better hold on." Finally, the narrator gets a sense of where he needs to turn: self-control.
Raunchy, snide, punchy, and vicious, "Basket Case" has all the elements needed for a great pop punk song. Nay, it's one of the greatest pop punk songs, right up there with the Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go?," the Buzzcocks' "Ever Fallen In Love?," and the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated." It's got tons of energy, a great hook, strong (albeit flat) vocals, precise drumming, and subtle lyrics. There's not much more one could ask for. Green Day might have gotten a bit too big for their jeans in the 2000s, but their 90s output stands for itself as one of the great catalogues of pop punk music. They might not have deserved to enter the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on their first year of eligibility, but they certainly deserved to get in at some point.
"Basket Case" has plenty of personality from the very first note, starting with solo voice and electric guitar: it's a daring opening for a punk song. After all, even the Buzzcocks, the grandfathers and masters of pop punk, wouldn't start a song with such a cold open. From there on out, "Basket Case" just keeps growing. Tré Cool practically turns the snare drum into a machine gun with blisteringly fast paradiddles, while Billie Joe Armstrong steps up the power chords. Meanwhile, Mike Dirnt adds the cool factor with a few snide-centered bass runs. "Basket Case" might be about madness, but it certainly expresses said madness with swagger and and fury. The entire band operates at full steam throughout the entire track: something that cannot be said of their other good, but not great, hits like "Longview" and "When I Come Around." "Basket Case" just tries harder.
Lyrically, "Basket Case" is also the strongest song on Dookie. "Do you have the time to listen to me whine" is perhaps the most classic opening line of a post-70s punk song: it presents a narrator that is at once obnoxious yet deeply aware of his own flaws. The narrator of "Basket Case" is, in all likelihood, not insane. Rather, he's just young and frustrated, and his parents would prefer to medicate him rather than solve his problems. Psychiatrists use self-fulfilling Freudian psychoanalysis to criticize his sex life. Prostitutes bemoan his lack of care about sex and overemphasis on his emotions. In all likelihood, the narrator is just going through an emotional phase. The bridge is the lynch-pin here: "Grasping to control, so I better hold on." Finally, the narrator gets a sense of where he needs to turn: self-control.
Raunchy, snide, punchy, and vicious, "Basket Case" has all the elements needed for a great pop punk song. Nay, it's one of the greatest pop punk songs, right up there with the Clash's "Should I Stay or Should I Go?," the Buzzcocks' "Ever Fallen In Love?," and the Ramones' "I Wanna Be Sedated." It's got tons of energy, a great hook, strong (albeit flat) vocals, precise drumming, and subtle lyrics. There's not much more one could ask for. Green Day might have gotten a bit too big for their jeans in the 2000s, but their 90s output stands for itself as one of the great catalogues of pop punk music. They might not have deserved to enter the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on their first year of eligibility, but they certainly deserved to get in at some point.
34. "Don't Speak" - No Doubt
Many Internet music critics are big fans of the ska crossover scene that temporarily gained traction in the late 90s. Unfortunately, I don't consider myself one of those people. Groups like Less than Jake and Reel Big Fish do nothing for me. Even the most popular band of the genre, Sublime, grates on me; while the band does have impressive guitar work, the misogyny in most of their songs is truly astounding. The only ska crossover band I really enjoy is No Doubt, and even then, I'm more a fan of their straightfoward rock songs than their ska hits. Give me "Just a Girl" and "Ex-Girlfriend" over "Spiderwebs" any day. Then again, "Don't Speak" is neither a ska hit nor a rock song: it's a flamenco inspired break-up ballad that became one of the most played radio hits of the 90s. And it's bar none their best song.
"Don't Speak" earns points with me from the get-go by making an implicit allusion to Aerosmith's "Dream On" - one of my absolute favorite songs - with the opening guitar chords. Indeed, the guitar shines throughout "Don't Speak." The guitar tone, strum pattern, and guitar solo all allude to flamenco music and Spanish guitar - once again, No Doubt expresses their musical variety as compared to other ska punk bands. The vibrato of the cello on the track is particularly potent, alluding to the underlying pain tearing the lovers apart. Indeed, one of my favorite elements of the song is the extremely melodic cello part in the second verse, acting as the true melody of the song while Gwen Stefani's singing takes on a more rhythmic role. Best of all, Adrian Young doesn't go grand-standing on the drums: the worst thing he could have done was interrupt the excellent melody with unnecessary drum fills. Rather, the only time he steps up the percussion is the lead-up to the chorus, so as to build up the drama and cue the modulation.
Even Gwen Stefani, a singer whose voice I find wholly disposable and somewhat grating, excels on "Don't Speak." Normally, Stefani is unable to project any emotion other than petulance or arrogance: songs such as "Spark the Fire," "Hey Baby," and "Hollaback Girl" speak for themselves. Yet she's practically crying on "Don't Speak." Though simple triad harmonies are the default for pop music, her doubled harmonies are nonetheless effective: her vocal lines resonate as to make the chord feel much more passionate. "Don't Speak" is not a lyrical masterpiece, but Gwen Stefani makes every word and every improvisation count.
Yet only one feature explains "Don't Speak"'s high placement on this list: the bridge. Simply put, the bridge to "Don't Speak" is the single most cathartic moment of any 90s pop anthem. I'm not sure what makes it so effective. Is it the forward momentum of the preceding chorus? Is it the harmonies? Is it the words: "it's all ending, better stop pretending who we are?" Is it the stuttering guitar and cello line? Is it the resolution to the final suspension? A combination of all of these elements? I'm not sure what the answer is, but the bridge of this song feels truly massive; I could listen to it on loop and never get tired of it.
Fans of 90s pop music usually point to songs like "Don't Speak" as the high watermark of pop songwriting during the decade. While there are undoubtedly several 90s pop songs that I like more, some of which even made the top ten, I can see why "Don't Speak" is often cited. Not only was it one of the most played songs of the decade, it's a song that spoke to plenty of people at the right time. Since the 90s were not a very problematic decade for most of the West on a social level, most pop listeners felt their greatest pain on the emotional level. Thus, pop songs like "Don't Speak" came out at just the right time to satisfy the needs of every dejected, lovelorn teenager and every downtrodden ex-girlfriend or boyfriend. "Don't Speak" is the quintessential alternative break-up song of the 90s, even if it isn't necessarily the best. But one thing is certain: it's got the best bridge.
Even Gwen Stefani, a singer whose voice I find wholly disposable and somewhat grating, excels on "Don't Speak." Normally, Stefani is unable to project any emotion other than petulance or arrogance: songs such as "Spark the Fire," "Hey Baby," and "Hollaback Girl" speak for themselves. Yet she's practically crying on "Don't Speak." Though simple triad harmonies are the default for pop music, her doubled harmonies are nonetheless effective: her vocal lines resonate as to make the chord feel much more passionate. "Don't Speak" is not a lyrical masterpiece, but Gwen Stefani makes every word and every improvisation count.
Yet only one feature explains "Don't Speak"'s high placement on this list: the bridge. Simply put, the bridge to "Don't Speak" is the single most cathartic moment of any 90s pop anthem. I'm not sure what makes it so effective. Is it the forward momentum of the preceding chorus? Is it the harmonies? Is it the words: "it's all ending, better stop pretending who we are?" Is it the stuttering guitar and cello line? Is it the resolution to the final suspension? A combination of all of these elements? I'm not sure what the answer is, but the bridge of this song feels truly massive; I could listen to it on loop and never get tired of it.
Fans of 90s pop music usually point to songs like "Don't Speak" as the high watermark of pop songwriting during the decade. While there are undoubtedly several 90s pop songs that I like more, some of which even made the top ten, I can see why "Don't Speak" is often cited. Not only was it one of the most played songs of the decade, it's a song that spoke to plenty of people at the right time. Since the 90s were not a very problematic decade for most of the West on a social level, most pop listeners felt their greatest pain on the emotional level. Thus, pop songs like "Don't Speak" came out at just the right time to satisfy the needs of every dejected, lovelorn teenager and every downtrodden ex-girlfriend or boyfriend. "Don't Speak" is the quintessential alternative break-up song of the 90s, even if it isn't necessarily the best. But one thing is certain: it's got the best bridge.
33. "Been Caught Stealing" - Jane's Addiction
Sometimes, one cannot beat a well-formed rock song. Indeed, there's not much more one can say about "Been Caught Stealing" than that it's an extremely fun and well-written rock song. It's not intellectually stimulating. It's not emotionally compelling. It's a song about two people who like stealing things: "it's as simple as that." Yet, in spite of the lyrical and emotional simplicity, "Been Caught Stealing" rockets up the list for its musicality and fun factor.
Jane's Addiction is one of the hardest 90s rock bands to define. Indeed, what exactly is their genre? To an extent, they're a hard rock band, what with tracks like "Stop!" and "Mountain Song." Then again, most hard rock bands couldn't pull off a song as heartfelt as "Jane Says." Songs like "Three Days" present Jane's Addiction to be an "experimental" rock band, but songs like "Just Because" are far too straightforward for such a label to apply. The best label would probably be "alternative hard rock," but even that title seems to lump Jane's Addiction in with the grunge groups, which Jane's Addiction clearly deviates from. Alice in Chains and Nirvana would scoff if told to release a song as upbeat as "Been Caught Stealing." Yet, ultimately, it's to their discredit.
"Been Caught Stealing"'s best element is Dave Navarro. He plays every single guitar part on "Been Caught Stealing," and the effect is staggering. He captures a number of different guitar tones and rhythms, allowing each tone to emphasize a different note; I particularly like the subtle emphasis on the third of the I chord in the second repetition of the introduction. Additionally, his guitar solos on "Been Caught Stealing" are some of the finest of the decade. In fact, barring Slash's second solo on "November Rain," Navarro's solos are the best guitar solos on this entire list. They combine speed, tone, and expressiveness in a way few alternative rock guitarists can match.
But that's not to say the other elements of "Been Caught Stealing" are lacking. Rather, the percussion section is also quite effective. Stephen Perkins emphasizes the hi-hats, the rise cymbal, and the snares as opposed to the more sonorous strikes of the timpani: as a result, the drum kit melds nicely with the bright guitar tone and clapping beat. Eric Avery's bass line is also one of the raunchiest of the entire decade. While most of the musical elements take the mischievous heart of "Been Caught Stealing" quite lightly, Avery emphasizes the malevolent tendencies latent to shoplifting. His brief solo after the bridge is one of the song's finest moments.
Jane's Addiction would be a huge influence upon most later 90s rock groups, such as the Screaming Trees, Tool, and the Smashing Pumpkins. Altogether, that's not a bad group of bands to influence. Yet that influence comes from mostly from excellent musicianship and fine rock sensibilities. While Jane's Addiction was never the smartest rock band on the market, they were quite possibly the most fun. "Been Caught Stealing" is their finest moment as a band, in which all the musical elements reach their natural height. It's one of the most enjoyable songs of the decade, and it rightfully enjoys a spot in the list's upper half.
Jane's Addiction is one of the hardest 90s rock bands to define. Indeed, what exactly is their genre? To an extent, they're a hard rock band, what with tracks like "Stop!" and "Mountain Song." Then again, most hard rock bands couldn't pull off a song as heartfelt as "Jane Says." Songs like "Three Days" present Jane's Addiction to be an "experimental" rock band, but songs like "Just Because" are far too straightforward for such a label to apply. The best label would probably be "alternative hard rock," but even that title seems to lump Jane's Addiction in with the grunge groups, which Jane's Addiction clearly deviates from. Alice in Chains and Nirvana would scoff if told to release a song as upbeat as "Been Caught Stealing." Yet, ultimately, it's to their discredit.
"Been Caught Stealing"'s best element is Dave Navarro. He plays every single guitar part on "Been Caught Stealing," and the effect is staggering. He captures a number of different guitar tones and rhythms, allowing each tone to emphasize a different note; I particularly like the subtle emphasis on the third of the I chord in the second repetition of the introduction. Additionally, his guitar solos on "Been Caught Stealing" are some of the finest of the decade. In fact, barring Slash's second solo on "November Rain," Navarro's solos are the best guitar solos on this entire list. They combine speed, tone, and expressiveness in a way few alternative rock guitarists can match.
But that's not to say the other elements of "Been Caught Stealing" are lacking. Rather, the percussion section is also quite effective. Stephen Perkins emphasizes the hi-hats, the rise cymbal, and the snares as opposed to the more sonorous strikes of the timpani: as a result, the drum kit melds nicely with the bright guitar tone and clapping beat. Eric Avery's bass line is also one of the raunchiest of the entire decade. While most of the musical elements take the mischievous heart of "Been Caught Stealing" quite lightly, Avery emphasizes the malevolent tendencies latent to shoplifting. His brief solo after the bridge is one of the song's finest moments.
Jane's Addiction would be a huge influence upon most later 90s rock groups, such as the Screaming Trees, Tool, and the Smashing Pumpkins. Altogether, that's not a bad group of bands to influence. Yet that influence comes from mostly from excellent musicianship and fine rock sensibilities. While Jane's Addiction was never the smartest rock band on the market, they were quite possibly the most fun. "Been Caught Stealing" is their finest moment as a band, in which all the musical elements reach their natural height. It's one of the most enjoyable songs of the decade, and it rightfully enjoys a spot in the list's upper half.
32. "Red Right Hand" - Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
Nick Cave had already proved himself to be one of the most chaotic and creative songwriters of the 1980s on the albums From Her to Eternity and Tender Prey. He had also proven his musical diversity, showing excellence in everything from jazz ballads to blood-curdling rock songs. Yet the 90s were yet another phase in Cave's artistic development, in which he diversified his sound to embrace more straightforward rock and roll, minimalist murder ballads, and straightforward pop ballads. Of these songs, none left a greater impression than the horror classic, "Red Right Hand," a song that would fit right on the soundtrack of Night of the Hunter or Cape Fear. It's one of the most nightmarish tracks of the decade, telling a tale of physical, psychological, and societal morbidity.
"Red Right Hand" is the story of a "tall handsome man in a dusty black coat," not too dissimilar from the horror villains of the 1940s and 50s. His "red right hand" stands in for his murderous tendencies. Yet this man's most lethal weapon is not his hand; rather, his tongue, and even more important, his patience is far more deadly. "He'll reach deep into the hole, heal your shrinking soul, but there won't be a single thing that you can do" - he lures his victims into his snares. He's an omnipresent evil, coming "through the ghettos and the barrio and the bowery and the slum," as to become practically an urban legend.
The music echoes the eerie tone of the lyrics. The primary instruments throughout the track are the organ and the electric piano. While the former adds a feeling of classical horror, the latter provides a sadistic glee; the main piano riff seems to suggest that our horror villain is toying with his victim, drawing out the kill. Mick Harvey's guitar line slinks throughout the song, steadily pulsing out the main beat while the electric piano plays the main chords on the offbeat. Funeral bells ring throughout the song, as if to beckon another victim to the grave; most importantly, they both begin and end the song, as if to begin and end a life. All the while, the bass drum pounds ominously.
But the most frightening part of "Red Right Hand" is not the morbid descriptions of the man or the dark musical vibe; rather, it's the fact that the entire song is addressed in the second-person. The man isn't just after any person: no, he's after "you." Now, most of us aren't actually being stalked by a murderous killer. However, Nick Cave flips our understanding of the man in the last verse: "You'll see him in your head, on the TV screen, and hey buddy, I'm warning you to turn it off." Suddenly, the man is a stand-in for any number of real-life terrors: government indoctrination, general anxiety disorder, emotional turmoil. In the end, "you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand." The final loss of agency secures "Red Right Hand" a spot on this list, as one of the scariest songs of the 90s.
"Red Right Hand" is the story of a "tall handsome man in a dusty black coat," not too dissimilar from the horror villains of the 1940s and 50s. His "red right hand" stands in for his murderous tendencies. Yet this man's most lethal weapon is not his hand; rather, his tongue, and even more important, his patience is far more deadly. "He'll reach deep into the hole, heal your shrinking soul, but there won't be a single thing that you can do" - he lures his victims into his snares. He's an omnipresent evil, coming "through the ghettos and the barrio and the bowery and the slum," as to become practically an urban legend.
The music echoes the eerie tone of the lyrics. The primary instruments throughout the track are the organ and the electric piano. While the former adds a feeling of classical horror, the latter provides a sadistic glee; the main piano riff seems to suggest that our horror villain is toying with his victim, drawing out the kill. Mick Harvey's guitar line slinks throughout the song, steadily pulsing out the main beat while the electric piano plays the main chords on the offbeat. Funeral bells ring throughout the song, as if to beckon another victim to the grave; most importantly, they both begin and end the song, as if to begin and end a life. All the while, the bass drum pounds ominously.
But the most frightening part of "Red Right Hand" is not the morbid descriptions of the man or the dark musical vibe; rather, it's the fact that the entire song is addressed in the second-person. The man isn't just after any person: no, he's after "you." Now, most of us aren't actually being stalked by a murderous killer. However, Nick Cave flips our understanding of the man in the last verse: "You'll see him in your head, on the TV screen, and hey buddy, I'm warning you to turn it off." Suddenly, the man is a stand-in for any number of real-life terrors: government indoctrination, general anxiety disorder, emotional turmoil. In the end, "you're one microscopic cog in his catastrophic plan, designed and directed by his red right hand." The final loss of agency secures "Red Right Hand" a spot on this list, as one of the scariest songs of the 90s.
31. "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" - Geto Boys
If "Red Right Hand" is scary, "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" is terrifying. In fact, it is one of the most frightening songs ever written. For "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" isn't about serial killers, demons, monsters, or any of the other standard horror tropes we see in pop music. Rather, "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" describes the monster within one's own mind. The track practically catalogues every psychological disorder at work in the slums, showing how each one drastically affects both a narrator and a community. It's one of the most nightmarish songs in all of hip-hop, and it's quite possibly the most frightening hip-hop song of the 90s.
Each of the four verses of "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" deserves its own attention, as all of them are great. Scarface's first verse seems to be a description of acute paranoia: "I'm poppin' a clip when the wind blows/Every twenty seconds got me peeping out my window." Each day practically becomes a hell on earth, with barriers surrounding Scarface wherever he goes: "four walls just starin' at a *****." What are these barriers? The walls of Scarface's room? The terrible socio-economic conditions of the slums? The frail sanity of Scarface's mind? Ultimately, the paranoia starts to blur when we realize the people Scarface fear aren't so much other gangsters, but shadowy reflections of himself: "he owns a black hat like I own/A black suit and a cane like I own." Scarface is running from the one person he cannot escape: himself.
Willie D's verse is probably the weakest on the track, but that's tantamount to saying there's a slice of Macintosh apple in the midst of the Granny Smith platter; it might not be as tasty as the rest, but it's satisfying nonetheless. He too suffers from paranoia, but it's in the more strictly physical sense. While Scarface tends to internalize his paranoia, Willie D's fears are clearly more predicated on others, as he fears repercussions from "that fool that [he] ran off the block, or... that ***** last week that [he] shot." Additionally, instead of trying to deal with his demons, like Scarface, he surrounds himself with cronies in order to downplay his own psychological weakness. In essence, if Scarface is the psychologically tormented new gang member, Willie D is the psychologically tormented mafioso.
Scarface's second verse is not so much a reflection on mental illness so much as it is a plea for morality and forgiveness. He finally begins to see the real cost of his actions: "I got a little boy to look after/And if I die, then my child'll be a bastard." He prays for heavenly forgiveness, but it provides no consolation. He realizes that he is in love with a woman he has been with but has only ever treated like trash, only after she has left or has died. The song shifts from a tone of psychological desperation to emotional desperation, showing the full extent of the rapper's pain.
But the best verse is the last, from Bushwick Bill. Finally, the insanity of the ghetto takes physical form, in nightmarish hallucinations. Bill and his friends encounter a huge enemy enforcer while having fun on Halloween night. Threatened, they try to beat him up, only for all their efforts to be in vain. As Bill punches his foe, both his enemy and his friends disappear: he has been punching the pavement the entire time, fighting a monster he cannot possibly defeat. The final admission of the hallucination is downright depressing; Bill sounds completely dejected when he declares, "Goddamn homie, my mind is playing tricks on me."
Most importantly, the music behind "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" is equally as frightening and threatening as the lyrical content. The main beat is a sample of Isaac Hayes's "Hung Up on My Baby" - a rather lighthearted and forgettable song from one of the masters of soul. "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" goes a step further than most samples though, completely remaking the original and putting the tune into a minor key. While the original's guitar lines are designed to welcome the listener and create a semi-utopia blaxploitation atmosphere, "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" turns each guitar line into the judgment of society. Each faded steel-string riff suggests the lost promise of the 70s, marred by the gangster and racist atmosphere of Houston, Texas. The only steady part of the song is the drum beat, in which each strike of the snare drum is a rush of blood to the brain.
"Mind Playing Tricks On Me" is undoubtedly one of the greatest hip hop songs ever released. While the Geto Boys were an influential horror core group and one of the most important Texan rap groups, they never quite wrote a song of this caliber ever again. No other hip hop song has ever quite tapped into the horrors of gangster life so thoroughly as "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" giving it an edge few hip hop songs can match. It's the single darkest song on the entire list, even more so than several grim classics featured in the top thirty. The only reason it isn't higher is the lack of musical innovation - the sampling does a bit too much work - and the somewhat less than virtuosic flow. Otherwise, this could have been an easy top twenty entry.
Each of the four verses of "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" deserves its own attention, as all of them are great. Scarface's first verse seems to be a description of acute paranoia: "I'm poppin' a clip when the wind blows/Every twenty seconds got me peeping out my window." Each day practically becomes a hell on earth, with barriers surrounding Scarface wherever he goes: "four walls just starin' at a *****." What are these barriers? The walls of Scarface's room? The terrible socio-economic conditions of the slums? The frail sanity of Scarface's mind? Ultimately, the paranoia starts to blur when we realize the people Scarface fear aren't so much other gangsters, but shadowy reflections of himself: "he owns a black hat like I own/A black suit and a cane like I own." Scarface is running from the one person he cannot escape: himself.
Willie D's verse is probably the weakest on the track, but that's tantamount to saying there's a slice of Macintosh apple in the midst of the Granny Smith platter; it might not be as tasty as the rest, but it's satisfying nonetheless. He too suffers from paranoia, but it's in the more strictly physical sense. While Scarface tends to internalize his paranoia, Willie D's fears are clearly more predicated on others, as he fears repercussions from "that fool that [he] ran off the block, or... that ***** last week that [he] shot." Additionally, instead of trying to deal with his demons, like Scarface, he surrounds himself with cronies in order to downplay his own psychological weakness. In essence, if Scarface is the psychologically tormented new gang member, Willie D is the psychologically tormented mafioso.
Scarface's second verse is not so much a reflection on mental illness so much as it is a plea for morality and forgiveness. He finally begins to see the real cost of his actions: "I got a little boy to look after/And if I die, then my child'll be a bastard." He prays for heavenly forgiveness, but it provides no consolation. He realizes that he is in love with a woman he has been with but has only ever treated like trash, only after she has left or has died. The song shifts from a tone of psychological desperation to emotional desperation, showing the full extent of the rapper's pain.
But the best verse is the last, from Bushwick Bill. Finally, the insanity of the ghetto takes physical form, in nightmarish hallucinations. Bill and his friends encounter a huge enemy enforcer while having fun on Halloween night. Threatened, they try to beat him up, only for all their efforts to be in vain. As Bill punches his foe, both his enemy and his friends disappear: he has been punching the pavement the entire time, fighting a monster he cannot possibly defeat. The final admission of the hallucination is downright depressing; Bill sounds completely dejected when he declares, "Goddamn homie, my mind is playing tricks on me."
Most importantly, the music behind "Mind Playing Tricks on Me" is equally as frightening and threatening as the lyrical content. The main beat is a sample of Isaac Hayes's "Hung Up on My Baby" - a rather lighthearted and forgettable song from one of the masters of soul. "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" goes a step further than most samples though, completely remaking the original and putting the tune into a minor key. While the original's guitar lines are designed to welcome the listener and create a semi-utopia blaxploitation atmosphere, "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" turns each guitar line into the judgment of society. Each faded steel-string riff suggests the lost promise of the 70s, marred by the gangster and racist atmosphere of Houston, Texas. The only steady part of the song is the drum beat, in which each strike of the snare drum is a rush of blood to the brain.
"Mind Playing Tricks On Me" is undoubtedly one of the greatest hip hop songs ever released. While the Geto Boys were an influential horror core group and one of the most important Texan rap groups, they never quite wrote a song of this caliber ever again. No other hip hop song has ever quite tapped into the horrors of gangster life so thoroughly as "Mind Playing Tricks On Me" giving it an edge few hip hop songs can match. It's the single darkest song on the entire list, even more so than several grim classics featured in the top thirty. The only reason it isn't higher is the lack of musical innovation - the sampling does a bit too much work - and the somewhat less than virtuosic flow. Otherwise, this could have been an easy top twenty entry.
