The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #329

#329 - "You Don't Miss Your Water" (2008) - The Black Crowes

In this performance, recording exclusively for iTunes, the Crowes unplug; in fact, if I'm not mistaken, the full Crowes aren't in the studio here--it's just the brothers Robinson, both on guitar, Chris (pictured above on the left) singing lead with Rich providing tight, upper-register harmony on the chorus. The Robinson brothers take this shopworn soul/country classic* in slow Southern stride, highlighting not only Chris Robinson's soulful voice, but also Rich's deep-hearted plucking. The recording brings to mind not only of the sad, regretful tale in the lyric, but of singer-songwriters in general.

Mostly, I don't care for that subgenre of rock/pop, mainly because the songs are mostly either too mopey or too whimsical, without much sense of humor or soul or inventiveness. Hearing 'em live, though, in an intimate setting, can make for a much more spiritual experience. The physical distance between entertainer and audience is much shorter, much more compact, and thus the we, the audience, feel emotionally/spiritually closer to the entertainer because we are closer physically. It's easier to make a connection. Depending on how compact the space, often the audience can hear the entertainer sing/play without need of amplification, and the entertainer seems that much more human, more like us, more like a comforting friend than would be the case in an ampitheater or a stadium, where the physical distance is so vast that the emotional artist-to-fan connection has to suffer some (but don't go tell that to Widespread/Dead heads or Phish fans, though), and the overamplified instruments surely don't help matters (and don't tell that to KISS fans, either).

Now, I'm not saying that acoustic/unplugged performances are better or more real, nor am I saying that coffee house gigs are more fulfilling than arena tours; I'm stating that for the fans that feel they need they need to feel emotionally close to their favorite artists, then, well, singer-songwriters (and folk artists, too) performing live, with as few loud instruments as possible, as close to the audience as possible is the way to go. It's not my way to go, though. It's been my personal experience that much more often than not, these types of honest performances, close-up, with acoustic guitars, leave me trying my best either not to groan at the singer's vapid (at best) lyrics or not to stifle laughter at the singer's voice. I've heard too many of these types of performances late at night at the Neshoba County Fair sitting around the porch of someone's cabin. ** Sure, these troubadours sing earnestly and have only the most sincere of artistic intentions, but good googly-moogly, the music and lyrics are enough to make one convert to the Church of Christ. The only similar type of communal experience worse is attending a poetry reading. And that's a story for another day.

I need to note that what the Crowes do here, though, is the exception to my rule of avoiding these types of performances. One--and this is the most important reason--they've got an exceptional singer, and two--they've got a great song to sing. Most don't.

NOTES

*Stax soul singer William Bell wrote and originally sang "You Don't Miss Your Water" back in 1961, and it was his biggest hit. Four years later, Otis Redding covered it on record, and that's the version I'm most familiar with, as my dad had several Otis records he played repeatedly when I was a youngun. In '67, the Byrds recorded it as a track on their seminal (and countrified) Sweethearts of the Rodeo album. Those three versions are the most famous of this song, but it's been recorded dozens of other times, by country, rock, and soul singers alike.

**The musicians I speak of here are the ones who play and sing with earnest intent. The comic ones I'll talk about next week.

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #330

#330 - "Drunk All Around This Town" (2007) - Scott Miller and the Commonwealth

There's not much meat on this one, but--to paraphrase Spencer Tracy--what's there is choice. A simple two-step shuffle highlighted by Miller's effective vocals, the Commonwealth's tight musicianship, and clever lyrics about the joys of drinking, this song was recorded live, probably in the bar on the strip in Knoxville, Tennessee, where Miller (a William & Mary graduate with degrees in American History and Russian studies) & the Commonwealth played as the house band for years. The record sounds like it would have been fun to be there; the crowd sounds lively, not too raucous, not too large, and Miller's engaging.

An engaging frontman plays an important factor in the popularity of a small-time band. An entertaining singer can quite easily make an audience (especially a drunk one) overlook whatever deficiencies a band may have (trust me on this one). Heck, the frontman not need even be kind or cordial. Back when I attended Mississippi State University, I once attended a, uh, diner called Mac's Supper Club in nearby Crawford, MS. Every weekend, club owner Mack Banks* performed--behind chicken wire. Why the chicken wire? Mack almost never performed cover songs; instead, he played his own compositions, and his compositions more often than not contained vulgar lyrics, many of which he'd improvise on the spot, depending on whatever women in the club happen to catch his eye or speak to him. If he found a woman who inspired him to sing, then he'd describe her--especially her most appealing parts--in song, including fantasized dalliances the woman might have with Mack himself. Oftentimes, the women either thought hearing a song about them was cute, or they would be too polite to appear offended; however, invariably, at least one woman--and more often than not, that woman's boyfriend--would take umbrage at Mack's lewdness, and they'd then shout, curse, and throw bottles at Mack--which inspired him to take his blue lyrics up a notch...and the crowd loved it. Sadly, Mac's Supper Club burned down awhile back.

*NOTES - Mack Banks has a fascinating history. Read about it here.

Here's Miller sans band:

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #331

#331: "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived (Variations on a Shaker Hymn)" (2008) - Weezer

Mo epic. This one's a mock epic, though--except when it's not. Similar in structure to the sincere epic "Welcome to the Black Parade," Weezer's near-six minute monument parodies machismo, specifically the arrogant attitudes adopted by many an MC (rappers, rockers, passive-agressive singer-songwriters, etc...), and it mocks via six or seven different musical forms, all in the same song. The tune begins with a crowd clapping and cheering (for Cuomo, of course) as a piano plays a stark and simple melody*, representing the hero's humble origins, a defining point of sentimentality each epic needs. From there Weezer traverse the following forms (in the following order):

• old-school rap
• rap metal
• folk
• martial hymn
• r&b
• emo
• rockabilly
• New Wave
• Elvis Presley's "Are You Lonesome Tonight"
• Gregorian chant
• Weezer rock

...all played with the appropriate bombast or sincerity, the song's title repeated multiple times in these different forms. Weezer seamlessly segue from one form to another, and they ape each of these disparate forms expertly, all while never loosing their singular sound. The lyric is funny, and the song's a hoot. However, Weezer is so good at what they do here, so perfect their pose, so genuine their performance, that the lyric can seem inconsequential, and one then falls under sway of the music itself; the epic nature of the structure, the power of the chords, the charm of the vocals, and the sweetness of the melody all combine to undermine the parody and transform the song into a genuine epic, albeit a very funny one.

This song's duplicitous nature reminds me of a time back when I was in high school, when with my buddies Mark (guitar) and Josh (bass) and Johnny (vocals), I formed a mock metal band: Meat Cleaver. Before we ever practiced a note, we produced Meat Cleaver tour tee shirts and Meat Cleaver gold & platinum records. When we finally decided to start practicing, we realized that, uh, we weren't very good. The metal performers we made fun of were, uh, much better than we though they were. We began, then, with simpler songs to play, and worked ourselves up to the point of where we could create our own tunes. One of these was an instrumental; I don't remember its title (though I'm sure Mark does), but I thought of it as simply "the metal ballad," as in, "Hey, Mark, let's play the metal ballad." Mark and Josh created the song, and I helped give it the pounding pomp and sheen it needed for it to sound as bombastic as, say, "Home Sweet Home" or "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" or "Don't Know What You've Got Till It's Gone" sounded to us back then. Each time we played it, the song got better. We started minimizing our mistakes, tightening a few loose screws, and--doggone--the mock metal ballad actually started sounding...almost like the real thing...and I enjoyed it (and I think the other two did as well, though they were probably as loathe to say so to each other at the time as I was).

There seemed to be real feeling there, as if those overused power chords actually had power. Well, they did. Predictible, yeah, but chocolate has the same predictable effect on me every time I eat it, and I still eat it. Candy never diminishes in quality in my mind just because everyone else likes it, it's mass produced, it's pleasant, and I don't have to think to enjoy it. What's wrong with music having the same effect? I can't believe it took me years to discover this analogy. Wonder if Weezer makes a candy bar, too?

*Notes - "The Greatest Man That Ever Lived"'s melody resembles the melody of an old Shaker hymn entitled "Simple Gifts," originally composed by Elder Joseph Brackett. The song was later made famous by Aaron Copland, and it's melody has been featured in many a movie and television broadcast. Reportedly, Weezer didn't cop the melody, but a band member's mother heard the song, and told the band that it reminded her of a hymn--thus the song's subtitle. Very pretty melody, regardless.

The 333 Best Pop Songs of the 2000s: #332

#332: "Welcome to the Black Parade" (2006) - My Chemical Romance

Dah dah dah-dah, dah dah dah-dah, Emo's world!

And in exactly what shade of black would you like that prom dress?

“The broken, the beaten, and the damned”—those poor souls aren’t this song’s true audience*: the audience who swallows this swill usually comes from middle-class (mostly non-black) homes, as they often see themselves as disaffected, disinterested, disappointed, and about any other dis you want to toss in (including Dante’s Dis, the city inhabiting the lower levels of hell in The Divine Comedy, where many parents and teachers assume these disses live now or will live one day). I’m not saying these disses, these youngsters, these Emos (but not the band, oh goodness no--as lead singer and primary songwriter Gerard Way has angrily and loudly proclaimed, MCR is not emo), aren’t to be pitied, shouldn’t have our empathy or sympathy: no, not at all. These teenagers are misfits not because they’re the non-conformists they see themselves as being (because when a subnation of teens all dress in the same color and all sport the same tats and the same piercings in the same placings, we’re talking about large-scale conformity); they’re misfits because that’s how they perceive themselves, and that’s therefore how they’re treated: I perceive as I am, therefore I am (Descartes was Emo, you know, and he reigned in Dis).

These kids of ours are non-violent, they live for their music, they wear their misery (affected or not) on their ripped sleeves, and doggonit, they need a movement to make America aware that their time has come. Their apathy needs be celebrated. The gay have had their anthem. The hip-hop kids have had theirs. Now, the Goths need theirs, and My Chemical Romance have provided them with one. Go Goth! From the pitiful treacle of the almost spoken-word introductory narrative, to the Green-Day-like chopped cords of the verses, to the lyrics whose message (I don’t care, but I’ll keep fighting the good fight because I don’t care) is wonderfully contradictory, to the hair-metal high of the vocals, to the closing mantra, shouted/chanted to the ringing Brian May-influenced guitar and militaristic, Sousa snare taps, this song is the epitome of what most of us (and most of them) think of as the EmoGoth movement (I was considering calling them GothEmos, but EmoGoth has the ring of Lovecraft to it, and I think that's quite fitting)--except for the fact that the song, and this explication of it, completely ignore the various reasons behind the true pain our teenagers have to work through every day.

This is their “We Are the Champions," their "Hip Hop Hooray"—their anthem (though, as the singer states, the anthem won’t explain it: it’s an EmoGoth thing; you wouldn’t understand). Welcome to the Black Parade, ladies and gentlemen; I hope you’ll stay till the end; we'll be here till Thursday.

Okay, enough. Why is this song here? Often, despite my best efforts to the contrary, despite how hard I fight it, my inner emo holds a soft spot for songs that try so hard to stand up for people who don't usually stand up for themselves...and because the singer—for all his histrionics—has true talent, and because in midst of the bombast (Jim Steinmann would be so proud), I detect a smattering of surf drumming throughout, and I'll take my surf drumming wherever I can find it, and I'll carry on. You should, too.

*Notes - I do, however, know some of the broken, beaten, and the damned for whom this music and this lifestlye are more than a curious affectation. And for these people, this music is important; it is a reminder, a reassurance, that they matter, and sometimes this type of affirmation is the only they get. For that reason, above all other snide ones I listed above, popular music can be as essential as any other element in life. Music matters. Even if you don't like it.

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

#333: "Let's Get Retarded" (2004) - The Black Eyed Peas

First song on the list, so let's get it started. Wait--I thought the title was "Let's Get It Started"? It is--and it isn't. The song's original title, "Let's Get Retarded" was changed (or censored, depending on one's point of view) because the word retarded has been deemed offensive, the term now a pejorative of the mentally handicapped--which I shouldn't say either, because I believe the new term is mentally challenged. It's possible that the Peas were being insinsitive to use that word in the title and in the song's lyrics, and perhaps I'm being insinsitive in using it here, but I don't perceive it as such. In fact I think the term retarded is essential to the song's message.

The Peas use retarded not to denote stupidity or verbal incoherence, but to denote freedom: dancing without inhibitions, without social constraints, without the limitations of self-consciousness, shaking your body, losing fine motor control, getting loose. Retarded meaning the physical and mental freedom brought about by music and dancing: freedom that releases the mind from prejudice, from hatred, from low self-esteem, from insensitivity—freedom to move your body to the beat (and it’s a great beat, rhythmically supplementing the minimal guitar beat on the one and two, and the chorus chants of “Hah!”). Retarded as freedom, Retarded as dancing, dancing as physical movement, and dancing as movement from the physical to the cerebral to the spiritual and back to the physical. Retarded as the song says: “We got five minutes for us to disconnect from all intellect and let the rhythm connect.”

So, everyone, let’s accept that we’re living a new millennium, that hip-hop is here to stay, that hip-hop is using music and language to create a new version of the old culture, one for a new generation, just as the rockers of the ‘50s used the music and language of various disparate cultures and subcultures to create a whole new world. Or we could just forget all that mess—and just dance. So let’s get retarded.

The Best Songs of the 2000s

Sometimes, my wife tells me that I don't use all my abilities to the best of my abilities often enough, that I should use my talents to make more money for the family. I've been married ten years now, and I've finally realized she's right. You see, I have two college degrees. I hava BS in English education, and I use that to make money from August to May; for June and July, though, I should be using my other degree to make money. What degree is that, praytell? I, thankyouverymuch, have a PhD in Amassing Collections of Disposable Popular Cultural Artifacts, specializing in Ones That No Other Thirty-Seven-Year-Old Adult Should Still Care About Enough To Spend Large Amounts Of Money On. A subset of that specializtion lies in American Popular Music of the Rock and Soul Era. I've had this degree for years, and I've never profited from it; well, since I'm now nearing forty, I think it's about time to do so. How do I plan to make my first million with my PhD? I'm going to blog. Then, I'm going to collect these blog posts in book form, sell it to the highest bidding publishing company, and just sit back (like I'm doing now) and reap the monetary awards and critical accolades. See, honey?

My first collection will be of what I think are the 333* Best Pop Songs of the 2000s. What makes me think I'm expert enough to know this? Why, if you don't believe me, you can just come on up to the house and take a gander at my Ph.D (see previous paragraph) hanging on the wall. I will issue a small disclaimer: I haven't heard every song released in the past eight years...but I'm pretty darn close! So, if you happen, by the time I'm finished with this bloglist about September of next year, to not notice a song you think deserves to be on this list, realize that yes, I've probably heard it, and that yes, you're wrong.

A note on my rationale: my list pertains to Western, mainly American, popular music—primarily because Jim Morrison said, "the West is the best," and I'm a strict Morrisonian. Though I’m slowly making inroads into other forms of Western music (classical, jazz, gospel, praise, electronic, etc...), I don’t feel confident enough that most of those cats know what they're doing enough to make great records. My list skews more heavily towards rock than any other single genre, but that's because, hey, I'm a rocker. And I rock. And so should my list.

I'm going to start this list today with #333, and I'll continue adding one song a day for the rest of the week, but I'll rest on the weekend (if God gets one day a week off, then, Hell, I should get at least two). If all goes according to plan, then I should post my #1 record sometime in October of '09. What happens to all the great songs that will be released between now and then? Well, at the end of '09, I'll post an appendix to the list, listing (and briefly discussing) those songs. So, any song released from this Tuesday, July 15 until December 2009 will not appear on this original list.

Ready to get started? Good. Let's.


NOTES * - 333 was a number I picked for two reasons: I liked its repetitive nature, and I guessed that there wouldn't be too many more great songs than three hundred. I've since discovered I was wrong on the latter. I've expanded the list to 500, and I could expand to 700 easily and 1,000 with another month or two of research. (12/31/09)