"REGRET" NEW ORDER (1993)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 13

Even with the epic influence that Joy Division had on the music world, 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 Curtis. 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”. It’s one of my summer songs.

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. As Hooky said himself, I think “Regret” is one of the last great New Order tracks.

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

"NIGHTINGALE SONG" TOAD THE WET SPROCKET (1991)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 12

Fond memories of freshman year at college play vividly in my mind when I listen to the Fear album. Blasting the tracks in the halls of Duchesne Hall East at Boston College and hearing them live at Boston’s Paradise Club with the band members less than six feet away from us. Mainstreamers were familiar with “All I Want” and “Walk on the Ocean”, but TTWS fans counted “Nightingale Song” as one of their favorites with its tambourine pulse and signature melody.

“Nightingale Song” chooses a steady and repetitive rhythm guitar sequence over flashy solos or memorable riffs. It keeps pace together with the tambourine and hand claps. The melody unfolds into a beautiful three-part harmony. It’s rather simple. A song where the verses seem to bleed into the chorus and you can barely delineate between the two components of the song’s structure. Its power and appeal lie in its invitation to the listener. An appeal to sing our own refrain into the night like the nightingale.

“We might be different, but our hearts won't lie.”

"LITHIUM" NIRVANA (1991)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 11

Neil Young may be the Godfather of Grunge. The Pixies and The Melvins may have inspired Kurt Cobain. But it’s Nirvana that defined the grunge era. That was certainly the case for me and the guys in Duchesne Hall at Boston College in the fall of 1991. The entire Nevermind album was on non-stop play in my college residence hall my freshmen year. It didn’t matter what kind of music you listened to before. We had guys who were into Ministry, the Chili Peppers, Toad the Wet Sprocket, Iron Maiden and the Aladdin soundtrack. But everyone was fixated on Nevermind and the quiet-loud-quiet genius of “Lithium”.

“Lithium” has an explosive quality to it—going from soft and dormant to loud and ignited. This was a dynamic that I started to really appreciate with the Pixies. A couple of years after the Doolittle album, I saw the quiet-loud-quiet construct truly mastered on “Lithium”. Cobain oscillates between singing and screaming in a manner where it flows seamlessly. This stands in direct contrast to Black Francis’ approach which feels more ragged and disruptive. The quiet segments are pretty much all Cobain, but the loud parts put Cobain, Novoselic and Grohl on a maddening collision course. What’s not to like for a college student?

“I'm so happy because today. I've found my friends. They're in my head.”

"THE PERFECT KISS" NEW ORDER (1985)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 10

It’s hard for me to find a song that has been more entangled with my life than this one. It’s a song that played on the dance floor at a club that I started going to during my senior year of high school. Fridays were alternative rock nights – and that’s when I begged my friends to go. Not Saturdays or Thursdays, Friday night was the night. That dance floor felt like freedom, especially when “The Perfect Kiss” came on. I also can’t separate the song from my first relationship. My girlfriend loved singing to it, grooving to it, and dancing to it. “The Perfect Kiss” is undoubtedly a key part of my life’s soundtrack.

One of my favorite New Order anthems, the song contains some of the band’s most iconic moments. It all starts, of course, with Hooky’s trademark bass line that skids and skirts along the upper octaves like it’s the lead guitar. Then there’s Gillian’s shimmery synth chords that wash over you like a tsunami. And then we have the unforgettable percussion. Ahh, those electronic drums. No drum kit here. The dance-infused drum machine wasn’t just keeping time, it created a brand new groove defined largely by those hand clapping moments for the New Order faithful. “The Perfect Kiss” is, just, irresistible.

“Now I know the perfect kiss is the kiss of death.”

"MIAMI 2017" BILLY JOEL (1976)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 9

As a New Yorker, the music of Billy Joel has always resonated with me on a deeper level than with the average casual fan. My first show was a Billy Joel concert at Giants Stadium. An Innocent Man, The Bridge and Storm Front were the albums of my youth, but my favorite album from the Piano Man is Turnstiles. It is a quintessential New York album. A record that signals Joel’s return to New York after his time in Hollywood. Several songs reference New York, including the apocalyptic masterpiece “Miami 2017 (I’ve Seen The Lights Go Out On Broadway)” – a prog rock anomaly from the Piano Man.

It might be my favorite Billy Joel song because even as it portrayed the downfall of New York City, it seemed to celebrate it with a sense of pride and nostalgia that can’t be fathomed with any other city. The song is narrated by a grandfather telling his grandchildren about the fictitious fall of NYC in the 70’s as he sits in his retirement home in Miami some forty years later. “Miami 2017” did something very few art forms are able to accomplish. It used a fictitious story to remind us of the things in reality that we really love and the things we might even die for.

“They sent a carrier out from Norfolk. And picked the Yankees up for free. They said that Queens could stay. They blew the Bronx away. And sank Manhattan out at sea.”

"JOEY" CONCRETE BLONDE (1990)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 8

1990 was an interesting year in music. Synth pop seemed to be having a late resurgence with acts like Electronic and Anything Box. Grunge was laying down its roots with Nirvana, Alice in Chains and others. And a new genre called shoegaze was taking shape off the heels of Cocteau Twins and new artists like Ride and Slowdive. But that same year, a simple, straight ahead rock song called “Joey” made its way onto the radio and I couldn’t get myself to stop listening to it. It was released as a single the same year I got my driver’s license – and it often accompanied me on those drives through windy roads.

I never got into Concrete Blonde as a band, but “Joey” might be my favorite song of 1990. It lived in this vanilla, mid-tempo world, but the lyrics were so personal and sincere. It’s a song about being in love with an alcoholic, but it turns out lead singer Johnette Napolitano was writing about her boyfriend Marc Moreland, guitarist for Wall of Voodoo. Like some of the best songs in history, “Joey” was able to go from a deeply personal song from Napolitano to a song that every listener could make its own. You didn’t have to be in love with an alcoholic to have that song mean something to you. That’s the power of the song.

“I know you've heard it all before, so I don't say it anymore. I just stand by and let you fight your secret war.”

"GLORIA" THEM (1965)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 7

I was never part of a real band, but there were a few afternoons in high school when a few friends of mine and I had a small taste of it. We huddled into our friend’s basement where we had a couple of amps, guitars, a drum set, keyboard and a mic set up. It was our playground. “Gloria” gave us the satisfaction of knowing we could play a song from beginning to end. Only one of us was musically trained. Our drummer could barely keep a beat. But all of us were crazy about music. We had a lot of fun together. We felt like rock stars for a couple of hours. And we played “Gloria”.

Three chords. One hard rocking number from the annals of rock & roll. With Van Morrison on lead vocals and songwriting duties, Them put together a garage rock classic that had that rhythm and blues groove, that distorted, raw edge, and Van Morrison soul. Like many of the great songs from the 60’s, “Gloria” was a b-side. The single “Baby, Please Don’t Go” wasn’t too shabby either. But it wasn’t a Them original. This made “Gloria” more important in many ways. While The Velvet Underground may get credit for getting countless listeners to start their own band, “Gloria” made it possible for many of them to actually play. E - D - A - E - D - A, etc.

“G-L-O-R-I-A, Gloria. I'm gonna shout it all night.”

"BYE BYE BAD MAN" THE STONE ROSES (1989)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 6

I’ve loved music from a relatively early age. I grew up in a home that had Mozart and Bach playing on our piano and Cantonese adult contemporary music playing on our car stereo. My foray into classic rock is when I started to dial things up – Rush, Floyd, Zeppelin. Then I found my way to alt rock. The day I discovered The Stone Roses’ debut album was a watershed moment for me. Looking back, I think this is when I became a serious fan of music. I got lost in the music – and I couldn’t help but dissect every element of those songs. The Velvet Underground was known as the band that made its listeners want to start their own band. Well, that’s what The Stone Roses did for me. One of the less heralded tracks on the debut record would be another band’s anthem track. “Bye Bye Bad Man” is resolutely a significant part of my life’s soundtrack.

The melody is exceptional. So exceptional, in fact, that I can’t imagine another band concocting it. It gives “Bye Bye Bad Man” that rare juxtaposition of smooth flow and hard edges. Instrumentally there are no slouches here. Every band piece is so critical to the sound. Each member adds serious muscle to the track – from Ian Brown’s Manchester drone and Squire’s jangle fest on guitar to Mani’s chunky bass meanderings and Reni’s garage rock sound on drums. The song is a reminder of how endearing Tracks 1-12 were, not just the single releases. An extraordinary track from one of the most impressive debut albums of all time.

“Choke me, smoke the air in this citrus-sucking sunshine. I don't care. You're not all there.”

"FASCINATION STREET" THE CURE (1989)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 5

If I had to pick just one band to listen to for the rest of my life, The Cure would be it. They are a band that embodies every human emotion in their music. I first discovered them in high school. My friend’s older sister was listening to all the cool music and exposed me to “The Love Cats”, “Why Can’t I Be You?”, “Let’s Go To Bed”, “Boys Don’t Cry”, and countless more classics. But, for me, the Disintegration album will always be the most endearing discovery for me. It was the first album that I heard at the actual time of its release. Even before I got my own copy, select tracks were playing on Long Island’s WDRE, a radio station that has shaped my life’s soundtrack in a big way. One of those great WDRE tracks was “Fascination Street”.

This was one of the first songs I heard from Disintegration, and I’ve loved it from the beginning. It has held up remarkably well over time. This one’s a true banger. Sonically The Cure are in full force here, there’s little nuance, and there’s plenty of force. The instrumental layering that The Cure is so good at here isn’t subtle. On “Fascination Street”, the guitars shimmer and swirl – and erupt in intervals. The keys play a more atmospheric and complementary role on the track – doing just enough and highlighted by those unforgettable arpeggios. The driving force of “Fascination Street”, of course, is the rhythm. Boris’ drumbeats are nearly stumbling over one another while Simon’s bass line crawls insistently inside your head and stays put. Robert doesn’t start singing until the 2:22 mark, and rightfully so. He nails the vocals, but the instruments are the elements that create the thrilling mood of a reckless, liberating night in New Orleans.

“So just pull on your face. Just pull on your feet. And let's hit opening time down on Fascination Street.”

"BIGMOUTH STRIKES AGAIN" THE SMITHS (1986)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 4

During my early high school years, there would be occasional weekends when my parents had shopping or errands to do in the city. I eventually found a way to turn this drudgery into an opportunity. I started asking my parents if we could stop off at Tower Records so I could use my allowance money to pick up a couple of new cassettes. Soon, these previously dreaded trips to the city became treasured moments. Well before the days of streaming and even before CDs were universal, I was building my cassette collection with albums I bought from Tower Records – ones that I was exposed to through Long Island’s WDRE/WLIR or via Spin Magazine. The Queen is Dead was my most treasured album – and the song that grabbed me the most from the outset was “Bigmouth Strikes Again”.

Johnny Marr’s opening guitar riff hooked me in immediately. Crafted and played with a sense of urgency, Marr showed that jangle pop could have razor sharp teeth. “Bigmouth Strikes Again”, as a title, piqued my interest immediately – and then held me captive with some of Morrissey’s most captivating lyrics. “Now I know how Joan of Arc felt. As the flames rose to her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt.” No one else was writing songs like The Smiths. “Bigmouth” also highlighted every member of this legendary Manchester quartet – not just Moz and Marr. Rourke’s bass line snakes about like a live fire hose, while Joyce’s drum fill at the 2:03 mark transforms his snare kit into a machine gun.

“Now I know how Joan of Arc felt. As the flames rose to her Roman nose and her Walkman started to melt.”

"DO THEY KNOW IT'S CHRISTMAS?" BAND AID (1984)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 3

The soundtrack to our lives often hit an emotional crescendo around the holidays. The songs remind us of childhood. Of family. Of friends. Of home. The famine in Ethiopia seemed worlds way from my Christmas experience. I was fortunate to never have to worry about food on the table or a roof over my head. My holiday experience was a privileged one. But there’s something powerfully uniting about this Band Aid classic. Christmas holds a special spiritual significance in my life and my family members’ lives. And this song is a sobering reminder that Christmas was never about gifts and decorations. It was never about us. It’s a story of the world.

It’s significant that one of the most famous Christmas songs of all time was an anti-famine fundraising effort for Ethiopia. Written and spearheaded by Bob Geldof and Midge Ure, it had a Christmas sound to it. But the lyrics weren’t Christmas-like on the surface. The song’s meaning can be summarized by this line in the first verse: “At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade”. The lyrics told a different, more powerful Christmas story. Then the musicians and singers did the rest of the work. Sting. Bono. Duran Duran. George Michael. Paul Young. Phil Collins. Boy George. Siobhan Fahey. The list goes on. This was Christmas with a social conscience, indelibly etched into my childhood.

“At Christmas time, we let in light and we banish shade.”

"RED BARCHETTA" RUSH (1981)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 2

Growing up, every Rush album cover I gazed at was epic and teased the promise of something equally epic happening inside. One of the albums that I’ve played from beginning to end incessantly was Moving Pictures. In the streaming age, this ritual has lost its luster a bit, as I’ve ended up playing its individual tracks probably more often than the entire LP. But in recent years, this has only helped reinforce how much each of these songs mean to me — and none more so than “Red Barchetta”. A song that both the cool and uncool kids in my elementary school could all agree on.

“Tom Sawyer” had swagger. “YYZ” had prowess. “Limelight” had melody. But “Red Barchetta” had heart. About a joy ride turned car chase, it had all the musical trappings to further the narrative — from Peart’s cymbal crashes to Lee’s adrenaline-fueled vocals. One of my favorite Alex Lifeson guitar solos happens at the 3:20 mark. Often overshadowed by Lee’s bass playing skills and Peart’s prowess on drums, Lifeson more than held his own on “Red Barchetta”, a song that carries with it so much nostalgia.

“Drive like the wind. Straining the limits of machine and man.”

"UNION OF THE SNAKE" DURAN DURAN (1983)

One of the most powerful things about music is that it is the soundtrack of our lives. Fellow music fanatic Sharon Hepworth started a music challenge on Twitter for the month of July. Each day, fans around the world will select a song from their life and describe what it means to us. These are my songs. #SoundtrackToYourLife

Day 1

Duran Duran is the first band that I loved. Looking back, I think this fact was unavoidable. My brother and I were glued to MTV – and Duran Duran was king of the station. It seemed like a new video from the band was constantly surfacing. Largely influenced by Japan and Roxy Music, Duran Duran weren’t exactly pioneers. But they were in many ways the perfecters. They knew how to write infectious pop songs, often highlighted by the frenetic stylings on John Taylor’s bass guitar. A prime example of this is “Union of the Snake”.

I still remember seeing the video on MTV and being reeled in by the images and the music. Every band member had his moment to shine on the track, yet none of the instrumentation feels excessive. The breakdown and musical arrangement at the 2:16 mark, in particular, is one of Duran Duran’s finest studio moments and one of the most imaginative musical expressions of the decade. On it, you’ll hear each member playing off of each other in a call-and-response structure, culminating in a sax solo by session player Andy Hamilton. While all the band members seemed to create a unified sonic boom on anthems like “Rio” and “The Reflex”, “Union of the Snake” marched to a different beat by thrusting each member into the spotlight at different points in time.

“There's a fine line drawing my senses together, and I think it's about to break.”

"DISINTEGRATION" THE CURE (1989)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: Seventeen Seconds (1980) - Track 10

Ranking: 1

I previously wrote on Mental Jukebox how the task of picking one’s favorite songs from Disintegration seems like an impossible task. The album is simply too deep. There’s not a single second of filler on it. There are so many great tracks that have stayed with me all these years. If I were to state my Top 30 again next month, I may have a different order of songs – excluding some, and adding a few ones. But one song always stay the same. The title track stands above the rest. It’s not only the magnum opus of the album and my favorite song from the band, it’s the quintessential Cure track – both as a produced piece and as a frequent inclusion on Cure concert set lists.

The song opens with the sound of glass shattering, and then immediately hands the duties of keeping the mood alive over to Gallup, who delivers one of his more memorable bass lines. Guitars and keys are given their time to marinate. On “Disintegration”, they’re cascading along a never-ending downward spiral, becoming a microcosm of the entire album that keeps descending further and further into the abyss. Robert’s vocals finally enter the picture at the 1:34 mark. But in the live setting, it’s the critical piece. It’s the element that makes “Disintegration” feel truly immersive. On Disintegration’s title track, we are not passive participants. We are part of the story.

"SINKING" THE CURE (1985)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: The Head On The Door (1985) - Track 10

Ranking: 2

This pick might come as a bit of a surprise this high up. It’s a cherished track by devoted fans, but it’s not the obvious one to go with from The Head On The Door. The album is known for being one of the more accessible recordings from their catalog. It’s poppier for sure. And often times, fans will recommend that new enthusiasts start with this album first, then branch out to the less accessible stuff. The thing that tends to get overlooked though is that The Head On The Door is far from a one-dimensional pop fest. My favorite song from the record, “Sinking”, is a case in point.

That sinking feeling is captured so perfectly and profoundly on the track. In true Cure fashion, the instruments take on a life of their own, personifying human emotions so beautifully. The guitar harmonics and tragic synth interludes seem to drag each other down into the mire. Smith doesn’t sling a ton of lyrics around on this one. But every word counts. Every word has a nearly unbearable weight attached to it. Gallup’s bass line mopes around, pacing back and forth in its misery. “Sinking” might seem more at home on a record like Disintegration, but as the final track on The Head On The Door, it’s a reminder that The Cure, as always, is in touch with every emotion.

“I crouch in fear and wait. I'll never feel again... If only I could remember anything at all.”

"FROM THE EDGE OF THE DEEP GREEN SEA" THE CURE (1992)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: Wish (1992) - Track 4

Ranking: 3

The Wish album cover reminds me of the whimsical world of renowned artist Joan Miro. The art didn’t always make you feel happy, but it always made you feel something. Every song on the album accomplished this feat — from ecstasy in “Wendy Time” and “Doing the Unstuck” to euphoria in “High” and “Friday I’m in Love” to sorrow in “A Letter to Elise” and “To Wish Impossible Things”. But the one song that creates in me the greatest emotional response from the album is “From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea”.

A treacherous swamp of feedback and distortion surfaces in the opening of the song, only to pull us in deeper and deeper into the sea. Guitar feedback felt more pronounced on this track and on Wish, in general, compared to all the great Cure albums that preceded it. But “From the Edge of the Deep Green Sea” benefited from an iconic wailing guitar riff that seemed to tug at a dozen different emotions. It feels like that iconic guitar riff is crying and wailing like a human being. It’s the defining element of the song – one which I got to hear live as the band added it to their setlist on the second night at MSG on their 2016 North American tour. Somehow it pulls me in deeper and deeper every time I hear it.

“Looking for something forever gone. But something we will always want.”

"PRIMARY" THE CURE (1981)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: Faith (1981) - Track 2

Ranking: 4

Faith is one of my least favorite Cure albums. While many of their records have an incredible cohesiveness and consistency matched with exceptional sequencing, Faith’s vulnerability is that it succumbed to including a few filler tracks. When I listen to Pornography or Disintegration, I don’t want it to end. But in the case of Faith, I skip straight to Track 2, and often play it endlessly on repeat. Track 2 captures the essence of The Cure. It showcases their refusal to conform to anything normal. There’s nothing else like it. In fact, “Primary” is even unique as far as Cure standards go.

The bass will forever be my favorite instrument. For me, its rhythmic sounds are always in the foreground, not the background. That’s why the rare song “Primary” by The Cure is such a treat. It doesn’t have a single element of electric or acoustic guitar. Instead, it boasts two bass guitars, played by Simon Gallup, of course, as well as Robert Smith. Dueling, grating bass guitars playing on separate octaves and achieving The Cure’s ambitious post-punk agenda.

“The very first time I saw your face I thought of a song and quickly changed the tune.”

"PUSH" THE CURE (1985)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: The Head On The Door (1985) - Track 5

Ranking: 5

The Head on the Door was the first album from The Cure that I loved from beginning to end. Each song seemed to flow perfectly into each other. They worked together brilliantly as a cohesive collection of songs, and the band seemed to strike the perfect sequence of tracks. “Push” was the mid-tempo connective tissue between the slow meanderings of “Six Different Ways” and the manic pacing of “The Baby Screams”. It’s also one of my favorite Cure songs of all time.

“Push” was written to thrive in live performances. While the band is well-known for launching into long musical preludes prior to the first verse of many of their songs, “Push” literally pushed the band’s own limits, not introducing Robert Smiths’ vocals until after the 2:23 mark. This delay gave all the gorgeous, swirling layers of instrumentation the spotlight — from the percussion fills of new drummer Boris Williams to the guitar and synth attack from Smith, Tolhurst and Porl. More than 35 years after it was recorded, it still holds up.

“A smile to hide the fear away. Oh smear this man across the walls. Like strawberries and cream. It’s the only way to be.”

"THE SAME DEEP WATER AS YOU" THE CURE (1989)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: Disintegration (1989) - Track 9

Ranking: 6

The task of picking my favorite tracks from Disintegration is a lot like splitting hairs. They’re all so good. Truth is, any one of them could’ve ranked as high as #6 on my list of Top 30 Cure songs. Disintegration is one of the most cohesive and exceptional albums I’ve ever heard. Fans often comment on how it’s a perfect rainy day album. This is largely due to two things: the introspective nature of the music and the lyrical preoccupation with water. I will say this about “The Same Deep Water As You” though. Of all the tracks, it’s simultaneously the most morose and the most majestic song on the album. And that’s saying something.

Like many Cure songs, the guitars on this track are laying bare all the emotions of the protagonist in the lyrics. It could be a song about suicide. Or it could be a song about sticking through a relationship that has no positive end in sight. The song’s meaning almost doesn’t matter at all. It’s not about what the song is trying to say, it’s about how it makes you feel. Those ceremoniously monolithic synth notes. The cascading guitar riff that drips, ripples and leaks into your soul. And Robert letting out the words like his final gasp for air before the water level rises over his head. “The Same Deep Water As You” reminds us to embrace every feeling and emotion and give them their proper moment.

“Kiss me goodbye, pushing out before I sleep. Can't you see I try? Swimming the same deep water as you is hard.”

"A FOREST" THE CURE (1980)

I’m not sure if there’s a band that I can claim as my favorite of all time, because the reality is I have a different favorite every day. This process of choosing one favorite over all others seems futile. But, for me, The Cure, is about as close as it gets. For me, their music is irreplaceable. There are things that I feel when I put on a Cure record that I can’t experience with anything else. For the month of June, I hope to share some of this as a I cover a different Cure song each day – counting down from #30 to #1. And, in this case, I have no qualms stating my #1. #30DaysofTheCure

U.S. original release: Seventeen Seconds (1980) - Track 7

Ranking: 7

Few Cure songs have meant more than this one. Throughout the band’s storied canon, you can easily make the argument that no other Cure track has had the impact that “A Forest” has had all these years. “A Forest” is the song that has been performed in concert the most – more than “Boys Don’t Cry” despite being released later. The various studio and remix versions are great, but the best way to hear the song is truly live in concert. It’s practically a spiritual experience where Robert and Simon play in sync face to face. I always liked the song, but I remember the first time I heard it live the song seemed to take on another life. It seemed almost larger than life.

“A Forest”, in many ways, is the quintessential Cure song. It highlights the fact that the whole is far greater than the sum of its parts. Gallup’s iconic bass line beckons and haunts, but it’s nothing without Smith’s counterpart musings on guitar. Hartley’s keys on the original recording seem almost overly simplistic, yet complement the rest of the instrumentation perfectly. The song also captures Smith’s knack for recreating emotions. In “A Forest”, he doesn’t just speak of the fear of getting lost in the forest, he reenacts the fear and pushes the feeling into the listener’s own psyche. My favorite part of the song is when the fear as overwhelming as it becomes, dwindles down to nothing via Gallup’s sputtering bass line closer. Like waking up from a nightmare.

“The girl was never there. It’s always the same. I’m running towards nothing. Again and again and again.”