"WISE UP" AIMEE MANN (1999)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Magnolia is one of those rare gems that benefits from a brilliant album scored for an equally brilliant film. The movie was all about these complicated characters, how their lives unraveled all while intersecting with one another in a serendipitous way. But it was also about the rhythm and sounds of life. The frog scene may be the most iconic moment, but, for me, the most memorable scene was the ensemble performance of “Wise Up”, when each cast member took turns singing the song. What would’ve been a disaster move in another movie just made perfect sense in Magnolia. It just worked. And it wouldn’t have been possible if Aimee Mann didn’t write and record such an incredible song.

It’s interesting that some of the most beautiful songs we know are also some of the most sad songs we know. “Wise Up” is one of them. There are many great Aimee Mann songs on the soundtrack, but what made this one unique was how Mann spanned a range of emotions in a single vocal performance, going from fragile to assured, hopeless to fearless, all within three and a half minutes. While “Wise Up” wasn’t written specifically for Magnolia, it seemed to perfectly convey the condition of each of the characters in the film so well, making it one of my favorite soundtracks of all time.

“You're sure there's a cure. And you have finally found it. You think one drink will shrink you 'til you're underground and living down.”

"ONE HEADLIGHT" THE WALLFLOWERS (1997)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

I’ve already written about this song once before on this blog. But I can’t do a 90s series without revisiting it. The truth is, my impression of The Wallflowers was really low at first. I saw them in ‘92 as the opening act for a band that literally exploded overnight: The Spin Doctors. I think we all had unfair, yet high expectations for the band, which seems to come with the territory when you’re the son of a legend. Jakob’s band just wasn’t quite together. But that all changed for me five years later. That’s when Bringing Down The Horse was released, a pub rock record that seemed right at home in smoke-filled rooms in the wee hours. The standout track was “One Headlight”.

The tinny, yet emphatic snare hits drew me in quickly. And the guitar work is exceptional and underrated, in my opinion. Its bluesy demeanor seemed to thrive in space, creating these incredible intermittent moments before going full force at the 4:15 mark. Then, there’s Jakob, of course, whose voice is much less nasal and much more raspier than his father’s. “One Headlight” has a fantastic vocal performance. The heartbeat of the song, however, is that steady, insistent and unforgettable bass line, which carries the song along in this groove from beginning to end. I remember one night dancing to “One Headlight” at a house party on repeat until nearly dawn. There just aren’t many songs out there that can grab us like that.

“Me and Cinderella, we put it all together. We can drive it home with one headlight.”

"AUTUMN SWEATER" YO LA TENGO (1997)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Listening back to Yo La Tengo’s seminal album, I Can Hear the Heart Beating as One, I’m struck by the fact that it isn’t a particularly cohesive record, as celebrated as it is. But that fault may just be what makes it so good. It’s a musical hodge podge of sorts, showing the band’s ambitions and versatility across a variety of influences and genres. Sixteen tracks long, it’s really hard to get bored with this album. But “Autumn Sweater”, in particular, is the one track I can listen to over and over again.

Maybe what makes it so addictive for me is the fact that every musical element on the track has a visceral quality. You can feel everything inside your bones. It starts with the percussion that features a full drum kit, bongos and what sounds like an egg shaker. The bass line is dizzying and enveloping. But the keyboard is the star of the song. Like some space age church organ, it takes command and ushers you in with this mesmerizing three-chord progression. “Autumn Sweater” is a comfortable, cozy song to throw on all year long.

“We could slip away. Wouldn't that be better. Me with nothing to say. And you in your autumn sweater.”

"GO" MOBY (1991)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

The funny thing about music is that it will often get you to do things you thought you’d never do. The first time I really discovered this truth was probably in college. In my freshman year, I went to a Mighty Mighty Bosstones show at Boston’s The Middle East. Despite weighing maybe a buck twenty-five dripping wet at the time, something in that ska-drenched room told me to rush into the mosh pit. Not once, not twice, but several times. I came out of that mosh pit unscathed and utterly liberated. Fast forward to sophomore year, and I was ready for my next unexpected experience, led by Moby’s “Go”.

The legendary techno track was literally begging me to go. Where? To the rave. I was so hooked by this track and its peers that I went for it. My friends were somewhat impressed that I was able to scrounge up some threads worthy of a rave night. And so I boarded a yellow school bus that picked us up in Cleveland Circle on a Saturday night. It drove us off into the night to an abandoned health club on the outskirts of Boston. The glass-encased racquetball courts became chill rooms, and the gymnasium was our giant dance floor. I skipped on the recreational supplements, but I let the music carry me away. The night was headlined by Moby’s “Go” and several other tracks that I surrendered my heart until dawn. Like the mosh pit at the Middle East, I was once again liberated by this driving, unrelenting Moby classic.

"ROUND HERE" COUNTING CROWS (1993)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

The best music may be the kind that has exerted the most influence, but I firmly believe the best songs are the ones that have helped us create the best memories. The ones that remind us of beautiful souls we knew, strong friendships we forged and unforgettable moments we experienced. When August and Everything After came out, it quickly became an album full of these kinds of songs. I was in college at the time — comfortably stuck in that space of being an irresponsible kid and a responsible adult. The album’s songs carry so many memories with them for me, but none more so than “Round Here”. I think it’s why I may like this song a lot more than the average person.

“Round Here” is the song that reminds me of two roommates who have left this world way too early. One was a college friend who I found out died from a drug overdose several years after we graduated. The other was a roommate we had for one summer who died from cancer leaving behind a husband and two children. “Round Here” was a critical part of our soundtrack in that season where our lives intersected. It’s simply impossible for me to hear this gut-wrenching and highly personal song without being reminded of Dennis and Monet. But it’s also a song that reminds me of a friendship forged with a guy who I met at church several years ago. He’s not just a friend, he became a brother. Counting Crows is one of his favorite bands and, because of Justin, I think I took this band a little more seriously and have seen them live twice. I love the instrumentation and lyrics of “Round Here”, but it’s the specific memories of these people, these friendships and these moments that make it not just great song to me, but a transcendent one at that.

“In between the moon and you, the angels get a better view of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.”

"BRAVADO" RUSH (1991)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Since elementary school, Rush has been a band that I enjoyed and respected tremendously, despite that high-pitched vocal range from Geddy Lee that some music listeners simply can’t stand. I remember borrowing the Signals, Moving Pictures and Grace Under Pressure cassettes from our town library. Rush cassettes stood out with their ugly beige plastic cases. Later in middle school I think I had enough money to buy my own cassettes. That’s when I discovered the genius of 2112, and a couple of other goodies like Exit… Stage Left and Permanent Waves. I loved all of these albums, but when it comes to individual songs, “Bravado” is right up there with the best of Rush in my opinion.

For me, “Bravado” carries deeper significance with the passing of drummer Neil Peart. Was it a foreshadowing? One thing’s certain, this wasn’t about a sci-fi or mystical world, like many other Rush songs. This was real. It may have been a song about not giving up, but for me it was more about living life with no regrets. “Bravado” also didn’t put the spotlight solely on one member of the band - as it seemed to have the perfect blend of instrumental contributions paired with Lee’s reflective and more subdued vocal approach. I read somewhere that the band was in love with several recorded parts for the song, but realized that by pairing it down it would result in a stronger track. I think that level of restraint paid dividends.

“If we burn our wings flying too close to the sun… If the moment of glory is over before it's begun… If the dream is won though everything is lost… We will pay the price. But we will not count the cost.”

"TAFFY" LISA LOEB & NINE STORIES (1995)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

The story of Lisa Loeb has always been an intriguing one to me. At Brown University, she played in a college band called Liz and Lisa and her guitarist was a classmate by the name of Duncan Sheik. A few years later, while living in New York City, she was playing in small clubs and got the attention of one of her neighbors. That neighbor happened to be working on a film, and gave the director a demo of hers to check out. The actor was Ethan Hawke. The director was Ben Stiller. The movie was a coming-of-age classic called Reality Bites. And, of course, the song was “Stay”, which became the pivotal hit on the movie’s soundtrack. A year later, she recorded Tails, which included the infectious “Taffy”.

Like many Lisa Loeb songs, “Taffy” pulled me in with its raw, intimate feel — a song that seemed like it came from a friend more so than a famous recording artist. Pulling it apart, “Taffy” has these wonderful, little elements, like the drum rolls that stumble over into pregnant pauses, the bass line that jumps octaves and Lisa’s falsetto sways in the chorus. But the very best thing about the song is how she took a common theme and clothed it in an unusual, yet playful metaphor.

“Sometimes you tell the truth like you're pulling taffy.”

"ALL OVER YOU" LIVE (1994)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Based on their body of work, the Pixies and Nirvana are true masters of quiet-loud-quiet dynamics. But I would argue that Live belongs right up there in the discussion of bands who did it best. Practically the entire Throwing Copper album was a quiet-loud-quiet clinic. It was not only a great recording, it was also a great tour, as the band truly thrived in the live setting. When I saw them on the Throwing Copper tour, I was enthralled by these slow hushes that erupted into these fits. One of the songs that pulled it off most naturally was “All Over You”.

This song would practically lull you in the verses with those soft guitar arpeggios and high hat hits. But before you knew it, it flew into high gear in the chorus. Chad Taylor turned a simple chord progression into an ass-kicking guitar riff. Ed Kowalczyk sang like a Michael Stipe with some serious anger management issues. “All Over You” just had this intensity to it, making those quiet, brief lulls a seemingly necessary respite before going back into the chorus and getting our minds blown once again.

“Our love is like water.”

"SWEET SURRENDER" SARAH MCLACHLAN (1997)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Many of Sarah McLachlan’s most well-known songs tend to fall on the slow side of the tempo spectrum, often verging on sleepy and dreamy, including “Adia”, “Angel” and “Ice Cream”. But there is a mid-tempo side that the world has noticed, and this is the pacing that I prefer the most when it comes to her work. It’s the tempo range where some of her greatest songs thrive: “Vox”, “Possession” and the subject of this post: “Sweet Surrender”.

I don’t have to think long and hard about why I love this song. It’s really just two things. The guitars and the vocals. First, the guitars. They weren’t these monster riffs or anything. But anyone who has heard “Sweet Surrender” a few times will remember that song opener and the ensuing sounds coming from the guitar for the remainder of the song. There was distortion, but the tones were beautiful and controlled, not unwieldy. The vocals, on the other hand, seemed to have a sense of liberation. McLachlan’s mezzo-soprano voice is strong and decisive throughout, even as she’s practically whispering sweet nothings at times in our ears. Other Sarah McLachlan songs seem to have earned a great reputation for their vocal performance. I just find it puzzling that “Sweet Surrender” never quite got the praise it deserved, too.

“The life I left behind me is a cold room.”

"EASE YOUR FEET IN THE SEA" BELLE & SEBASTIAN (1998)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

If I could step into a time machine to experience a heightened music experience, one of the stops I would make is Laurel Canyon in the 60’s. The notion of groundbreaking musicians going over to other groundbreaking musician’s homes to jam and write music together is much too hard to pass up. I would die to hear the Byrds, CSN&Y, Joni Mitchell and others on their lawns and in their living rooms. But without a time machine, I still have Belle & Sebastian. What I love most about their catalog is that throwback, 60’s Laurel Canyon vibe, which is all over The Boy With the Arab Strap and one of my favorite tracks from it: “Ease Your Feet in the Sea”.

Over the years, B&S has created a wonderful eccentric world filled with eccentric characters, like Lazy Line Painter Jane, Judy, Seymour Stein, Allie, Jill Pole and many others. But one of the most refreshing aspects of “Ease Your Feet in the Sea” is that it’s all about us. The carefree spirit of the song feels as if it’s guiding me to the shoreline with every listen. The song transports me there. The acoustic guitar nudges me along only to be given that final gentle push into the water by the dancing string arrangements.

“Take your shoes off, curl your toes. And I will frame this moment in time.”

"REGRET" NEW ORDER (1993)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

New Order was never Joy Division Lite, or Joy Division Part 2. It was just an entirely different entity, mainly because Ian Curtis’ persona loomed so large with JD that he was simply incomparable. But… as genius and as influential as Joy Division was, New Order was always the band that I connected with more between the two. Bernard Sumner’s vocals and lyrics were at my level. I think I understood him, but I couldn’t say the same for Ian. And while I believe New Order peaked in the late eighties, no other song from the band resonated with me more than the nineties hit “Regret”.

The track brings me back to the Summer of ‘93. I was home from college, spending my days working a crap internship and my nights hanging out with old high school friends. It was a great, great summer, and “Regret” was on full rotation on my go-to radio station WDRE. The big concert of the summer for us was New Order with 808 State at the old Brendan Byrne Arena in Jersey. The acoustics sucked, but the song still radiated. “Regret” contained one of Sumner’s more memorable guitar hooks with the band, which had these pregnant-like pauses built into them, which helped frame Hooky’s infectious bass lines that skittishly danced along the upper octaves. I think “Regret” is one of the last great New Order tracks.

“You used to be a stranger. Now you are mine.”

"CRAZY LIFE" TOAD THE WET SPROCKET (1995)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

When I first discovered the music of Toad the Wet Sprocket during college, I also met a very down-to-earth group of musicians. We were literally five feet away from the band in a near-empty Paradise Rock Club in Boston. They weren’t even the headliners. But, up until that point, they were the coolest, nicest guys I’d met in the music business. Pale and Fear were on heavy rotation in our dorm rooms, and eventually I discovered Dulcinea and this gem from the Empire Records soundtrack after graduation.

I played that album incessantly after college in my parent’s house. With those songs came fantasies of making it on my own and having an apartment in the city. This was the crazy life for me. Somehow it seemed to match the demeanor of the band. Laid back, and actually the furthest thing from crazy. Toad the Wet Sprocket is a down-to-earth, no-fanfare, mid-tempo band that’s probably more comfortable playing in pubs than arenas, although they got pretty big at one point. “Crazy Life”, to me, is the quintessential TTWS anthem. Jangly in its riffs, subtle in its harmonies and mid-tempo in its rhythm. I can put this song on repeat and forget about life for a while.

“Anyway now, it don't seem right. He is in there and you're on the outside.”

"LET DOWN" RADIOHEAD (1997)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

Fans and critics often refer to Kid A as being the most important Radiohead record. I think I’ve even heard some Beach Boys-like references to it, like it’s the Pet Sounds of the 90s or something like that. That may be true, but OK Computer will forever be the album that resonates with me the most. It’s the record that eases my mind and perks up my ears every time. I thought the songs were somehow totally unexpected, yet totally what I yearned to hear in this almost miraculous kind of way. There’s not a single pedestrian track on the LP, but one song has always stood above the rest for me: “Let Down”.

The thing that it did, that most songs don’t do, is bridge this gap between raw human experience and the celestial. It feels like it’s soaring somewhere in the stratosphere musically, but hitting too close to home and staying firmly grounded lyrically. Its chord progressions are unpredictable, creating an atmosphere to wallow in. While it’s certainly not a shoegaze anthem, “Let Down” did create a world for us to get lost in — the only difference with the aforementioned genre being that the sounds were incredibly precise and clear rather bleeding endlessly into each other.

“Crushed like a bug in the ground. Let down and hanging around.”

"ODE TO MY FAMILY" THE CRANBERRIES (1994)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

The great paradox of The Cranberries is this: While they seemed right at home in the 90’s alternative music scene, at the same time no one else sounded like them. Nobody. Then again, most rock singers don’t yodel. And most rock band’s can’t fluctuate with ease in a single album from apocalyptic bangers like “Zombie” to jangly strut fests like “Ridiculous Thoughts” to one of the most unrock & roll songs ever written and recorded by a rock band: “Ode To My Family”.

It might not even be my favorite Cranberries anthem, but “Ode To My Family” is undoubtedly one of the most endearing songs I’ve ever heard from any band or artist. It’s the antithesis of rock & roll — this was Dolores O’Riordan’s look back at simpler times before stardom and sold-out arenas. It’s unapologetically tame, not trying to be palatable for the masses. There is nothing exceptional about the guitar or bass lines. It’s all about O’Riordan’s lyrics and vocals delivering one of the most genuine musical expressions of the decade. The words say it all: “Does anyone care?”

“Understand what I've become. It wasn't my design. And people everywhere think something better than I am.”

"THE MAN WHO SOLD THE WORLD" NIRVANA (1993)

Each day in November, I’m revisiting a song from the 90’s — a decade that was a sorta coming of age for me. In that span, I experienced high school, college and my time as a young single guy in New York City. It was a decade of ups and downs, and the music never stopped playing during that span. It was always there with me. #30DaysOf90sSongs

It seems a little obvious to kick things off with Nirvana. They are, after all, the band most people think of when they look back at the 90’s music scene. Grunge will be forever associated with that decade. While many call Neil Young the godfather of grunge, and many critics point to other genres and bands like the Pixies for heavily influencing it, Nirvana seems to be the band most people think of first. Before Soundgarden. Before Pearl Jam. Before anyone else. At the MTV Unplugged set in New York, Nirvana created what I believe was their most unassumingly grunge song: their cover of Bowie’s “The Man Who Sold the World”.

This is probably my favorite Nirvana track. Most cover songs help you to look forward with new interpretations or perspectives. But Nirvana helped many of us look back. Frankly, many Bowie fans didn’t even know about the song or the album of the same name that it came from until Nirvana covered it. The band helped music fans to discover a darker side to Bowie. While unplugged, Nirvana found a way to make it a true grunge dirge. The dark undertones and misery are felt in Cobain’s vocals. But what really sealed it is when he ran his acoustic guitar through a device called a fuzz box, which had a way of making his axe sound electric and distorted. It was grunge to the core despite the acoustic setting. Sometimes I even forget it’s MTV Unplugged. Truly a brilliant cover.

“For years and years I roamed. I gazed a gazeless stare. We walked a million hills. I must have died alone a long, long time ago.”

"THE PROMISE" WHEN IN ROME (1987)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Those who criticize synth pop have every right to dislke the genre. What you listen to is up to you. But those who criticize it because they say it’s soulless are misunderstood. Synthesizers are mere instruments, just like a piano or an electric guitar. They can be the heart of a song. Or the soul of a song. But often, it’s not their job to be those things. It’s really the melody and the lyrics that tell you if a song has heart or soul. If you don’t believe me, listen to When in Rome’s “The Promise” and get reacquainted with what synth pop can do to your spirits.

I first heard “The Promise” on my local alt rock station WDRE. But it wasn’t long that the Top 40 stations picked up on it. The reason why: It wasn’t about the synthesizers even though the entire song’s instrumentation is based on them. It was about the words and the way the melody expressed those words. I could easily sing along to it, not because it was an easy melody (that chorus makes quite an octave jump), but because it made me feel something. Whatever it was, I wanted to feel more of it.

“I'm sorry but I'm just thinking of the right words to say.”

"MERCY STREET" PETER GABRIEL (1986)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

It’s not lost on me that So still holds up as one of the greatest albums of the decade. It was a weird space. Here, Peter Gabriel, one of prog rock’s pioneers showed a more accessible side. He crossed over fully here. Yet, there isn’t anything watered down on the album. “Sledgehammer” and “Big Time” may have gotten all the airplay. “In Your Eyes” benefitted from one of the most iconic movie scenes of the 80’s. And “Don’t Give Up” is as powerful a duet as it gets. But back then, and even today, my favorite song on the album is still “Mercy Street”.

Every song on So makes you feel something. An emotion that you can easily identify in a lineup of other emotions. Every song was like that, except “Mercy Street”. It lived in ambiguity. There was this mysterious quality about it. I knew it was making me feel something, but I didn’t know what. All I knew is I couldn’t stop listening to it, even as I grew tired of the other tracks. Gabriel’s ominous vocals are joined along by several different instruments in “Mercy Street”. But the one element that carried the most weight was the unsuspecting and haunting triangle, with its steady, insistent clang.

“All of the buildings, all of the cars were once just a dream in somebody's head.”

"DO IT CLEAN" ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN (1980)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

I can’t write a series on the 80’s without highlighting the work of Echo & the Bunnymen. Admittedly, I never owned Crocodiles. But other albums provided me with enough exposure to be impressed with what these post punk lads brought to the table. Ocean Rain, their self-titled LP and, of course, Songs to Learn & Sing. All of these were required listening for all post punk enthusiasts, but the latter was my introduction to the Bunnymen. It was where I first discovered “Do It Clean”, several years after it was recorded.

People often mention The Doors when they talk about the sound of Echo & the Bunnymen. It might be one of the most intriguing musical influences in modern rock. It’s also what I love most about the band’s approach. That Doors influence is all over “Do It Clean”. Ian McCulloch sings with the swagger of Jim Morrison. And the sinister keyboard hook and guitar riff attack are reminiscent of Manzarek and Krieger. I would never want a band to try to be The Doors, because no one can ever recreate that moment in rock history. But Echo & the Bunnymen didn’t simply duplicate their predecessors. They turned down the blues and elevated the punk.

“Where am I going. Where have I been.”

"EVERYDAY I WRITE THE BOOK" ELVIS COSTELLO (1983)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Elvis Costello is one of those artists that I can honestly say I never sought out proactively. I never counted down the days until his next album release nor have I been to a single show of his. But every once in a while when I hear his songs, the music grabs me with his distinct baritone voice and unique melodies. Songs like “Pump it Up”, “Alison” and “Watching the Detectives” were important steps in my journey as an avid music listener. And one of Costello’s most impressive and most memorable songs is “Everyday I Write the Book”.

It’s a song that he wrote in about ten minutes, which seems like a miracle when you think about the melody he created to go along with a highly creative song that draws a convincing parallel between romance and novels. The lyircs are, hands down, my favorite part of the song. But the next most distinct element, in my mind, are the backing vocals by Afrodisiac, featuring Caron Wheeler. The harmonies and background parts are golden, and give us a glimpse into Wheeler’s long, storied career as a stellar vocalist, from her work on Erasure’s “Chains of Love” to her work with Soul II Soul.

“All your compliments and your cutting remarks are captured here in my quotation marks.”

"RUNNING UP THAT HILL (A DEAL WITH GOD)" KATE BUSH (1985)

For the month of October, I’m selecting a song each day from the decade that has the most meaning to me: the 80s. It was the decade that I grew up in. The period of time where I discovered my love for music — and explored many different genres. For the next 31 days, I’ll highlight a handful of songs that I truly loved and that were representative of the decade. #31DaysOf80sSongs

Kate Bush’s popularity is a bit perplexing. Her records soared in Britain, but often flew under the radar in the States. Widely considered one of the most influential artists of our time, some say her work would’ve been more accepted had she arrived a decade later. This seems odd to me because influential artists thrive on arriving early to help pave new roads. It’s what the Pixies did for grunge — and decades before them Neil Young did the same. I’ve always thought what made Kate Bush so unique is that many of her songs seem to have a foot in the past, resurrecting old musical forms into something new, like “Babooskha”, “Army Dreamers” and “Cloudbusting”. At the same time, Bush has her other foot in the future on tracks like “The Dreaming”, “Suspended in Gaffa” and “Running Up That Hill (A Deal with God)”.

There’s a delicate beauty to much of Kate Bush’s catalog. But “Running Up That Hill” showed a brasher, more assertive side. On one level, we can simply enjoy the song’s most memorable elements like its echoey drum roll, its unusual synth hook off a Fairlight CMI and Bush’s powerful lyrics and vocals. On another level, the song’s impact on the future of music is something to behold. It’s because of Kate Bush songs like “Running Up That Hill” that we have artists like Tori Amos, St. Vincent, Bjork, Florence and countless others.

“Let me steal this moment from you now.”