The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #129

#129: "Yeah!" (2004) - Usher, featuring Lil' Jon & Ludacris

In a re-worked--and much improved upon--version of Petey Pablo's "Freek-a-Leek," Lil' Jon and Usher take tha' Dirty South's rough and tumble crunk music and give it the ol' mainstream sheen, and with Usher's smooth R&B tenor, it works to marvelous effect, almost like some mythical marriage of Stax and Motown. The music here ain't nothin' but synth and drums, more simplified than Prince's best stuff, but it works just as well, as the Dirty South finally celebrates its arrival onto the national music scene in full force, with as happy and joyous and bouncy and slinky a record as has been on the charts since the Purple One lost his way about a decade-and-half ago.*

"Yeah"'s titular shouts--well, sometimes when it the excitement builds and builds and it finally arrives, then exclamation is all know and all we need to know, especially when the excitement is over tomorrow's 2009 NFL Draft!

Football's not over; it's only just begun. Yeah!

NOTES

*Yeah, but he's making his way back!

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #130

#130: "Hit the Ground" (2005) - Lizz Wright

Again ( #284 before), we hear Wright's voice--a more soulful, jazzy update of Joan Armatrading's. Here, Wright offers shelter and support and open arms, but she does so by walking with her feet on the ground, as there's little joy in her voice this time around. Her tone bespeaks of optimistic fatalism, her voice strong and sure and knowing, offering unconditional love and nuturing, a voice that shows if not joy then hope and confidence, a voice of experience that knows of the world and all its travails and travesties and sees them clearly yet still refuses to run, instead inspiring, nay asking, her loved one to do the same, to come to her, for as though the skies may be dark and the future bleak--as represented by not only Wright's voice, but by the stark, desolate music with its empty spaces and its Duane Eddyesque tremoloecho guitars--Wright's still there, waiting, her faith in her love and in her ability to beat back the encroaching abyss strong...she's Danny Rand's mother, taking the wolves herself while she sends her son across the bridge; she's Banquo thinking only of Fleance's safety, she's Ms. Berryhill, Mrs. Zimmerman, Mrs. Satterfield, giving their husbands not only encouragement but themselves, refusing to admit defeat, staying the course when so many would have surrendered to inevitability, believing that there's always hope, that there's always a chance to keep the wolves at bay, perservering, fighting back, not letting their loved ones slip away into the abyss, telling their lovers to not go gentle unto that good night.

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #131

#131: "Beloved Stranger" (2007) - Cindy Lee Berryhill

Last week was strangely serendipitous for me. I received updates on the situations of three people in similar, uh, situations, on consecutive days. It was this that prompted me to include this song in this position on the chart this week (as before, I had it ranked higher). The stories of the three people and their families I'm going to mention are touching, sad, sweet, and uplifting, and I hope I'm up to the task of conveying their importance to me. As best I can, today, I'll refrain from hyperbole and invention and treacle and smarminess and smugness, and I'll try to let these stories speak for themselves.

My very dear friend Sarah Satterfield, who lives in Atlanta with her husband Shawn (both pictured above) and her five-month-old daughter Sophie, called me last week to tell me of some good news. Her husband had finally been accepted into one of the country's top brain research, treatment, rehabilitation, and recovery programs in the country. It's in Atlanta. Sarah was delighted, for this meant that--in addition to the obvious fact that the facility was close to home--someone thought that Shawn had a chance of improving his condition.

Three weeks ago, on a Monday morning, Shawn took some new prescription pain medication. On her way out of the house with Sophie, Sarah found Shawn on the floor in the living room. She had him rushed to the hospital, where he lapsed into a coma. Shawn's reaction to the medicaton had caused him to seizure, which caused a loss of oxygen to his brain. The doctors, who (at least at the time) didn't know how long Shawn's brain had been without oxygen, weren't very optimistic, nor at the time had they reason to be. Shawn wasn't responding to stimuli. Once, he opened his eyes and squeezed Sarah's hand, but this was viewed as an anomaly, because for three days--otherwise--Shawn hadn't moved. The physicians tried taking Shawn off his ventilator to see if his body could breathe on its own, but when they did, Shawn's heartbeat increased to an unhealthy rate. Fearing cardiac arrest, the doctors put Shawn back on the ventilator. Within the next two days, the doctors repeated the procedure, but Shawn's body reacted in the same fashion.

A few days later, Sarah was apprised of (some of) the doctors' prognosis: Shawn was essentially brain dead. Sarah would either have to care for his comatose body, or she would have to decide to have the physicians remove all means of artificial resperation. Sarah had three weeks to make her decision.

As of yesterday, Shawn was walking almost completely unassisted, eating regular food by himself, and was speaking in coherent, complete sentences.

In two (or three) weeks, Shawn will move in with his mother in Tupelo (MS) while Sarah soldiers on--with their baby--in Atlanta. When Shawn is released, he'll need constant care, and right now, Sarah can't provide that for her husband. Sarah's insurance is covering Shawn right now, so Sarah can't leave her job and still pay for Shawn's care and medication.

. . .

Last November, Sports Illustrated writer Paul Zimmerman suffered three successive strokes.

Zimmerman--known as Dr. Z to his many readers and admirers (he's not only the best sports writer I've ever read, he's one of the best writers period)--has had a slow rehabilitation process. He can know speak, but stringing sentences together proves to be painful if not impossible. He's slowly learning to move again, but this too has been an arduous process. He has to work at visual recognition and recall. He hasn't learn to write again. Most likely, he never will, certainly not at his previous level.

There is a program that has had enormously-high success rates at rehabilitating stroke victims; unfortunately, this program is extremely expensive, and as of right now, his wife Bailey--the Flaming Redhead whom Dr. Z spoke so highly of in each of his twice-weekly columns for SI.com--cannot afford it.

Fortunately, Dr. Z's fellow Sports Illustrated NFL writer Peter King has put together a benefit dinner and auction for Dr. Z and his wife to take place on May 18, at 7:00 p.m., at Mayfair Farms in West Orange, New Jersey. King will host a round-table discussion of this Saturday's NFL draft and the upcoming season with New York Giants' coach Tom Coughlin and New York Jets' coach Rex Ryan--and a few other prominent NFL guests as well--with the auction to follow. A few items will be auctioned online.

For more information about what both Dr. Z and his beloved Flaming Redhead are going through, you can check her blog here. You can find out more information about Dr. Z's benefit dinner and auction here (though that link is a couple of weeks old, it still contains all the prescient information. Check Peter King's Monday and Tuesday's columns on sportsillustrated.cnn.com for updates).

. . .

Two years ago, anti-folksinger Cindy Lee Berryhill (who appeared earlier on the chart at #296) released her album Beloved Stranger. The title track tells in heartbreaking, painful detail the

(Paul Williams, son Alexander, Cindy Lee Berryhill; photo courtesy of Kathryn Cramer)

mental and emotional struggle that Berryhill goes through daily.

In 1995, Berryhill's husband Paul Williams--noted rock critic (one of my favorites, and his book Rock and Roll: The 100 Best Singles was one of the inspirations for this blog of mine; he founded the now-defunct rock magazine Crawdaddy...and pretty much founded rock criticism in general), sci-fi editor (ever heard of Philip K. Dick? You can thank Williams for that), and philospher--had a bicycle wreck. The resultant brain trauma triggered what physicians believed to be an early onset of Alzheimer's disease.

As Williams is an author and freelance journalist, and Berryhill a musician, neither had insurance to cover the costs of rehabilitation and treatment. They still don't.

Last week, I received an email from rock critic Dave Marsh's Rock N' Rap Confidential. The email quoted from a David Fricke article in Rolling Stone, which detailed Berryhill's and Williams's situation, and pointed to a new website-- http://paulwilliams.com/ -- where donations can be made to help Berryhill cope with the costs of managed care for her husband while she also tries to raise their son.

Cindy Lee Berryhill's album Beloved Stranger is on iTunes and Amazon. The album is very good, and it contains two fantastic tracks, one of which is this one listed here, "Beloved Stranger." I'd link to a video, but there's not one. The single itself can be had for ninety-nine cents. It's one of the most personal songs on this list, and Berryhill's pain and longing for her beloved husband is evident in her twangy voice, whose passion cannot completely cover the inherent weariness and sorrow. Willie Nelson provides vocal support, but the loss and heartache is still apparent.

It's sad, and it's sweet, much like the situations of all three of these wonderful people who've been struck down by fate recently. Their recovery has been helped by their tireless, courageous, devoted wives, but sometimes, even love ain't enough. I'm not asking anyone to donate money here, 'cause most of the people I know need every cent they have to help themselves and their own loved ones. I'm just wanting to acknowledge and shed some light on their situations, for I know others reading this would, like I, hope for as speedy a recovery as possible.

The Haunting in Connecticut

Director: Peter Cornwall
Writer: Adam Simon & Tim Metcalfe
Photographer: Adam Swica
Score: Robert J. Kral
Cast: Virginia Madsen, Elias Koteas, Martin Donovan, Kyle "Billie Joe Armstrong" Gallner, Amanda Krew, Sophie Knight, Ty Wood.

Sunday, I couldn't find a date for the show--as my bruher mysteriously lost his phone between the hours of 1:30 and 4:15 (just like he has for the past three Sundays)--so I decided to stag. I'd been wanting to see The Haunting in Connecticut for since it opened and stuff, but my wife wouldn't go with me 'cause she wouldn't let me take the kids with us (even though I told her we could just cover their eyes and ears when the scary parts--or most of 'em (hee hee!)--came). I decided then just to go by myself.

And then it rained. Cats and frogs it rained, almost like I was watching a rerun of Katrina or something, it rained. My wife and the childs left to go to my in-laws, but it was raining too hard for me to go to the movies...and then it stopped! Poof! It was gone! I jumped in the Jeep and raced to the theater, but by the time I got there it was 2 and the line was twofold and about twenty people deep each line and so I said, "Yeah, right! As if!" and came home and went to the bathroom and next thing I know it it's 4:15 and I go to the theater and this time I get in ontime and I get my popcorn and Dew and I walk in the theater and there are two of my students and one of them the guy tells me to shut up and drink my beer and I'm thinking, "Yeah...he's my student alright," 'cause that made no since, even if the back of my shirt said it or not and stuff.

Okay, now, here comes the movie, and here's one of the first lines:

"You never plan on having a child with cancer," mom Virginia Madsen tells her hubby Martin Donovon about their teenage son, Kyle "Green Day's Billie Joe Armstrong Is My Idol" Gallner, and Gallner overhears. Whoah, dude! Way to saddle a cheap horror movie with emotional baggage so early on! What kind of movie did these filmmakers think they were making, anyway? It's a horror movie, right? Where are the jump scares? The totality of night shots even when it's day? The young child in danger? The blood? The near-sex scenes? Where I ask you? How am I supposed to be scared when all I'm thinking about is this family's personal turmoil and Gallner's eyeshadow? The one teenage chick in the movie never even attempts to look sexy or come on to her cousin, and where's the fun in that? Madsen--a hotty for over twenty years now--never even bares any cleavage! WTF?

Okay, sure, we're given a few jolts, a few stingers here and there, a few "Oh snap! He's behind you!" and "Oh snap! What was that shadow?" moments, but the out-and-out startles and boo moments and high-pitched screams and murdering fiends and ZOM-BAYs and obscured ghosteses and spooky Asian broads with long stringy hair give way to character development and sub-plot development and actual acting. Who wants this, people? It's a modern-day horror movie; it's not supposed to be some stuffy period piece (and hey, since it's set in the '80s, where are all the pop-culture tee shirts and hair dos? Huh?) about the pall that death and cancer can hang over an entire family, about how fear can develop into neurosis and neurosis into depression and depression into hallucinations and voices.

Horror movies nowadays (yeah, if ever) aren't supposed to make us think, doggonit. If I wanted to think, I'd have read a book, but no...I had to see this movie, and I had to think, and I had to care about the stupid characters, and I had to stop myself from crying over Virginia Madsen's heartbreak and grief, and who wants to cry at a horror movie? Not I, said the fly. Speaking of The Fly (the Jeff Goldblum, David Cronenberg version), where was the gore? The guts? You know what we get instead? Ectoplasm. Manifestations of evil. I mean, we don't even see, like, dead bodies--not any significant ones anyway--until the very end. Where's the fun? I want mortification!

I mean--and this is the last one, really it is--people...it's a haunted house movie. The ghosts? Where were they? The possession? Where was the head-turning? Where was the bodies banging against the wall? All you give is are a few doors opening and shutting and plates falling on the floor? Really? What year is this? 2009! It's 2009, not 1929!

Okay, okay, there is that creepy guy with the glasses, and that one scene in the bedroom, with Madsen in the dark, about 2/3 of the way through. That scene was great! Everybody in the theater screamed (but me...I laughed at 'em all!)! What we needed was more of that! See...these filmmakers aren't stoopid; they know how to make us jump. They're just dull and intellectual and hippies and communists and Puritans (where's the Virginia Madsen skin, huh?), and they don't belong making films in America. They need to be shipped to like Australia or something, making movies for those Albino people over there, you know, the natives that live in the land Down Under where women go with the thunder! Those Albinians might be scared at this, might like this, because their lives are all boring and stuff anyway, just spear the rabbit, spear the rabbit, spear the rabbit! (and the kangaroo! and the koala!).

True story? Right. The only true story is that I made it out of there without falling asleep. I think it's still playing in town, too. But if you decide to go see it, then don't say I didn't warn ya!

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #132

#132: "Step in the Name of Love (Remix)" (2002) - R. Kelly

The most old-fashioned R&B song to hit the top ten in the past ten years, R. Kelly's "Step in the Name of Love (Remix)*" sounds like something Johnny Taylor or Z.Z. Hill or Marvin Sease could have released twenty-five to thirty years ago, a last concession to the more dance-oriented, disco market before these guys (and many of their contemporaries) were dropped from their major labels, only to find homes (if they ever did) at smaller labels (such as the Jackson, MS standout label Malaco), where their records would soon thrive again, but on a much smaller level and in a much smaller market. These artists would have to work the chit'lin circuit again, but Malaco (and it wasn't the only label for those whom the charts left behind, but it was the most prominent one) afforded these soul/blues artists a sense of independence that they never had at their major labels, where they had to record the dance/disco records that ultimately proved their undoing (on a national level).

Ironically, most of these artists (that didn't turn gospel) retained that part of that smooth disco style that buried them, and often, these hybrid disco-soul-blues records were their most lively, their most entertaining, as if this combination of styles seemed to squeeze out sparks when each rubbed against the other ones. There are a slew of great dance records from these Southern soul/blues/dance artists--from the late '70s up till today--with only a handful of songs ever reaching any national chart. Most of these great songs only resonate with older--primarily African-American--audiences in the South.

I've deejayed many a time and had numerous requests for, say, Little Milton or Denise LaSalle or Tyrone Davis, and all of these requests have come from folk older than thirty five. Many of these same older folk also frequently request "Step in the Name of Love" by R. Kelly. Why? Not only does this song sound like those older Malaco numbers, but it's also a song about dancing, about a particular type of dancing: stepping. Stepping derived from the Jitterbug, but over the years--via L.A. and later Chicago--the motion grew less frantic, the steps slowed down as the music did, and the focal point of the dance changed to the offbeat. Steeping--in its current variation--has been around now for about, oh, thirty years or so, but it started to grow beyond its Chicago/L.A. (and, via migration and transmigration, the Deep South) roots into a more national limelight with the (relative) popularity of the Spike Lee joint School Daze, in which fraternities have a stepping contest. Now, this type of stepping is different from the stepping dance, but the term got thrown about often, and eventually, we get what he have hear today: a song by a black man about a dance first made popular--sixty years ago--by white folk, only to have their dance adopted and adapted by black folk, only to....

It's all cyclical, mostly. R. Kelly doesn't originate anything new here; he just recycles, but he does so with panache and care and a melody half lifted from Marvin Gaye and a voice straight lifted from Marvin Gaye. Like Isaac Newton said, we stand on the shoulders of giants, and like R. Kelly said, we step in the name of love.

NOTES

*It's a remix that was issued on the same album as the original, and it's the remix version that hit.

The Tournament of Metal: Round 2, Bracket 1

The first round is now over! Bands will now battle...OTHER BANDS! Rock!

Four brackets this round, with the first bracket covering bands A-D. Next week, it's E-L; in two weeks, we'll see bands M-R, and in three weeks, it's S-Z. One month from now, we'll mix n' match, getting all Garanimal on your heinie.

The results from this past week are as follows:

Saigon Kick
2"Love Is on the Way" v. “Body Bags”1

Saxon
3"Denim & Leather" v. "Wheels of Steel" 1

Scorpions
8"Rock You Like a Hurricane" v. "Still Loving You" 0
5"Wind of Change" v. "No One Like You"4

Skid Row
6"I Remember You" v. “Sweet Little Sister"2
8"18 and Life" v. "Monkey Business"0
6 "Youth Gone Wild" v. "Slave to the Grind" 0

Slaughter
2“Up All Night" v. "Fly to the Angels"5

Slayer
1"Raining Blood" v. "Angel of Death"3

Steelheart
5"I'll Never Let You Go" v. “She's Gone" 1

Stryper
4"To Hell with the Devil" v. “Honestly"

Tesla
3 "Getting Better" v. “Signs" 5
4"Little Suzi" v. "Modern Day Cowboy" 2
5"Love Song" v. "Heaven's Trail" (No Way Out)" 1

TNT
3“10,000 Lovers (in One)" v. “Everyone's a Star" 1

Tora Tora
1"Walkin' Shoes" v. “Phantom Rider" 3

Trixter
5“Give It To Me Good" v. “Surrender" 0

Twisted Sister
9“We're Not Gonna Take It" v. “Captain Howdy" 0
3“Burn in Hell" v. “I Wanna Rock" 5

Van Halen
7“Everybody Wants Some" v. “Why Can't This Be Love" 2
3“Mean Street" v. “Feel So Good"5
5"Unchained" v. "Finished What Ya Started" 3
7"(Oh) Pretty Woman" v. "Best of Both Worlds"2
8"Jump" v. "Black and Blue" 1
7"Panama" v. "Love Walks In"2
8"Hot for Teacher" v. "Dreams"1
3"I'll Wait" v. "When It's Love" 5

Vinnie Vincent Invasion
4“Boys Are Gonna Rock” v. "Love Kills" 1

Vixen
3“Edge of a Broken Heart" v. "Cryin'"3 - TIE ("Edge..." wins tiebreaker*)

Warrant
5“Heaven” v. "Sometimes She Cries" 1
1"Down Boys" v. “Cherry Pie” 6
6"Uncle Tom's Cabin" v. "I Saw Red" 0

W.A.S.P.
1"I Wanna Be Somebody" v. “Wild Child” 4

Whitesnake
9"Here I Go Again" v. "Slide It In" 1
7"Still of the Night" v. "Slow and Easy"2
7"Is This Love" v. "Give Me All Your Love"2

Winger
5"Headed for a Heartbreak" v. "Seventeen"3
3"Madaline" v. "Miles Away"3 - TIE ("Miles..." wins tiebreaker*)

XYZ
3"Inside Out" v. "What Keeps Me Loving You"0

Y&T
4"Summertime Girls" v. "Contagious"0

Zebra
4"Tell Me What You Want" v. "Who's Behind the Door"0

NOTES
*Tiebreaker: I asked my son which song titles he liked better. That's how those winners were determined. He knows none of those songs. He's not a metalhead...yet!

**Somehow, I left the mighty beast White Lion off of this past week's poll. No worry though, as both of their hit songs will appear in the second round in this bracket (which we'll see in three weeks).

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #133

#133: "Right Out of Your Hand" (2003) - Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds


For a couple of decades, I--like many of my friends--was an album guy. Sure, I'd read and loved Dave Marsh's The Heart of Rock & Soul: The 1001 Greatest Singles Ever Made and Spin's and Rolling Stone's greatest singles issues* (the issues released in the '80s; I'm sure they've released a couple since, but if I've read them, I don't remember), but for the most part, I believed in the LP as the height of musical artistic achievement, an album to a single being what the novel was to a short story: lengthier, therefore more complex, therefore more artistic merit, right? Wrong. I was an idiot for a long time.** Still, even if I would have believed back then that the single was just as great (if not greater***) as the album, I still would have been an album guy. Why? Proximity.

After the cassingle started appearing (and as quickly disappeared), 45s started slipping from shelves, and the single was done, the spindle tossed in the trash. If I wanted to hear new music, I had to buy the album...so I did. I bought my weight in wax (or tape) a week. The onset of CDs didn't change my habit. Working at a radio station, however, did change my mindset, as I listened to every new**** pop, rock, R&B, rap, hip-hop, gospel, and country track that was released every week, and most of the great ones never appeared on a great album. I then began to be much more discriminating in my tastes, reading every review I could before I'd spend chunks of money on rotten records. Still, if an artist I admired released a record, I'd buy it on the spot, and at least half the time, I'd regret my purchase, because other than the Beatles, nobody hits (or hit) it out of the park every time.

It was because of this disappointing track record with some of my favorite artists (Prince, Springsteen, R.E.M., etc...) that I bought a computer*****, roughly ten years ago, and from there, I discovered the wonderful world of downloa....uh...uh...of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds! I'd only heard one of their songs before. It was "I'll Love You Till the End of the World" from the wonderful soundtrack to the dreary and dull and endless Wim Wenders 1991 film Untill The End of the World. In that song, Cave & co. displayed many of their typical trademarks (which have inspired, among others, My Chemical Romance and H.I.M.) : heavy on strings, apocalyptic lyrics, heavy romanticism, and Cave's theatrical vocals that landed just this side of camp. It was full of pomp and circumstance, and I loved it (and I still do, too). I then went searching record stores for more from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, but none had any. The store managers all said that they could import****** them for me, but I didn't want to have to pay the extra shipping fees for I had little money, then*******. I waited and bided my time, hoping someday I'd find Henry's Dream and Let Love In as well as the back records. Five years I waited, and nothing. Until....

One day (five years later), I found the band's Murder Ballads at Wal-Mart.******** It was righteous, as it sparked my inner Goth. The next year, another album, The Boatman's Call...even better. Great. Superb. 'Twas nothing like the previous album, a complete turnaround from lascivious to lush, from fighter to lover, with a stately, standout opening track. Four years roll 'round, Cave releases another album, and I never knew of it. By this point, I had my computer, and I'd stopped my subscription to Rolling Stone, so--somehow--I missed it (found it later, though). It wasn't until 2003 that I bought a new Cave record, the one I thought was the first one he'd released since The Boatman's Call. I saw it at Wal-Mart, and I bought it. I didn't bother with browsing reviews or downloading the tracks (which would've taken me forever back then, on dial-up); it was a Nick Cave record, the last two were great, so this one was bound to be as well.

I was wrong. The 2003 record--Nocturama--was a dreary slog. The romanticism, the lush arrangements were there, but the melodies weren't. The songs seemed too similar to the ones on The Boatman's Call. It was too derivative, and it was uninspired. After listening to it once, I found some critical reviews of the album, and most of the reviews marched step with my ideas. "That's it," I told myself, "no more albums for me without reading the rushes first." I put the album away. Cave released another album the next year, but it received mixed reviews, so I didn't bother with it. In 2006, though, he put out an album with Grinderman (which was actually the Bad Seeds minus one or two members), and I listened to a few tracks, and they were great, so I bought the album. I wasn't disappointed this time. Inspired, I then went to iTunes and bought a slew of individual Cave tracks, and I aimed to make myself a 3-CD compilation of Nick Cave tunes, arranging them in chronological order (of course). In preparation, I listened to Nocturama for only the second time since I'd bought it three years prior, and guess what? The album still stunk...except for one track.

The track was--obviously--this one: "Right Out of Your Hand." The music is stately and romantic, with Cave's piano and Bad Seeds' Blixa Bargeld's pedal steel and (especially) Warren Elllis's violin creating a landscape of longing, the power coming from the impassioned reserve in Cave's and Mick Harvey's and Conway Savage's singing. It's lush only in its eroticism, as it smolders and builds, as it seethes and pulses slowly, the releases determined and deliberate and delayed, as these musicians exert expert control, not allowing anything to be rushed, allowing intimacy but not withholding passion. By taking their time with this beautiful melody, Cave & the Bad Seeds made their best record this decade, one that still gives reason to believe that the truly great artists, though they may falter a time or two, can create great art at anytime throughout their careers, and that they are never to be dismissed, their albums not ignored, no matter how the first go 'round may sound. Buy only the singles and risk missing some of the greatest work of a great artist's career. I almost did this time. "Right Out of Your Hand" was never released as a single, no video ever recorded, never been added to a soundtrack. It's an album cut, but it sure ain't filler music.

NOTES
* I don't think there any two lists of similar subject matter published by, uh, similar publications that are as widely divergent as these lists were.

** Yeah, I know. Don't say it.

*** And the single is greater, too.

****I also listened to, I think, every one of the 45s the station had, both sides, and they had a bunch, and I can tell you that if you think music is strange now, you should have heard some of the off-the-wall (not the Michael Jackson album, mind you) B-sides (and A-sides, too) released from the late '60s through the mid-'70s, before arena rock and FM radio completely changed the landscape of radio forever. Really weird stuff by some people who had no business making a record of any sort. You think artists like Jessica Simpson and Lady Gaga (etc...) are talentless? Well, you ain't heard nothin', yet.

*****My word processor finally breaking beyond repair might also have had something to do with the computer purchase. Might.

******Later I discovered that the Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds' albums were distributed in America, too, and that these record stores wouldn't have to import them, but they just told customers that so that they wouldn't have to go through the hassle of special-ordering an album that they hadn't heard of.

*******Still don't today, either.

********Ironic, that of all of Cave's work, the first one to appear at Wal-Mart--notorious (among music junkies, at least) for their censorship and wariness to stock even the slightest controversial album--was the one entitled Murder Ballads.