"MANDINKA" SINEAD O'CONNOR (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

The thing I love most about Sinead O’Connor’s catalog isn’t her musicality. It isn’t her lyrics. It’s her fire. O’Connor sang with such raw emotion, more than any other female artist I can think of from the 80s . At times, the singing felt more like fits and outbursts. Her angst, fear and lust had a way of expressing themselves, and the melody and words were simply along for the ride. The perfect example of this is “Mandinka” off her debut album.

This was a song that I didn’t like at first. Truthfully, I thought it was strange. Why is this woman howling? Eventually, I came around. I started to think, this is truly awesome, this woman is howling. What O’Connor was able to do in falsetto is nothing short of impressive. She hit the upper octaves with ferocity. She spews the chorus with such conviction that you can feel every syllable. Every other musical element in the recording is simply there, riding along the powerful momentum of her voice.

“I don't know no shame. I feel no pain. I can't see the flame.”

"I WANT TO BREAK FREE" QUEEN (1984)

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’m not sure how this song was off my radar growing up. As many music fans know, Queen was the king of the Live Aid concert at Wembley Stadium. Now, they didn’t play “I Want to Break Free”. “Radio Ga Ga” and “Hammer to Fall” got the new song honors at that show. And “I Want to Break Free” also didn’t chart exceptionally high. But the song just flat out kicks ass. It’s truly one of my favorites from the band.

“I Want to Break Free” is a song that seems to have endured well over the years. And it has made a comeback in all kinds of places — from bars to tv commercials. I remember some friends of mine who studied abroad in Barcelona in the late 90s were raving about this “new” Queen track that they played incessantly at the bars. The song was actually “I Want to Break Free”, which seemed to have a resurgence that allowed many of us naive rockers to finally get introduced to the song more than a decade after its release. The instrumentation hasn’t aged exceptionally well, but the melody has. I think, at the end of the day, upbeat, hopeful songs will always have a place in people’s hearts. It’s what music was designed to do.

“God knows I've fallen in love.”

"THE DEAD HEART" MIDNIGHT OIL (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

Midnight Oil may not be the quintessential 80s band, but when it came to using music as a social and political voice, there was none better. The message was always loud and clear. Peter Garrett’s vocals were powerful and distinct. And the hooks were always on point — from “Beds are Burning” to the most obscure songs in their catalog. Somewhere in the middle was the album rocker “The Dead Heart”.

I think “Beds are Burning” is certainly more anthemic and representative of the decade’s music. But I always thought “The Dead Heart” was an underrated Midnight Oil song. It dealt with the mistreatment of indigenous Australians and took the message to the country’s mainstream airwaves. Peter Garrett rocked it as usual. But the backing vocals are what make the song. The “doo-doo-doo-doo-doo-doo” refrain is among modern rock’s most memorable interludes. And the chorus is sung by three of the band members in the same notes rather than in a three-part melody, symbolizing the unified conviction of the message.

“We carry in our hearts the true country and that cannot be stolen. We follow in the footsteps of our ancestry and that cannot be broken.”

"ANA NG" THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS (1988)

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

During high school, my town caught the last strands of radio waves that snaked their way up NYC’s northern suburbs from Long Island’s WDRE. These radio waves shaped what my alt music friends and I listened to. It saved us from overplaying Billy Joel, Zeppelin, U2 and the Dead to death. We heard some great sounds coming out of that radio station — modern rock, post punk, new wave, jangle pop, among other genres. And then there was a strange breed of weirdness. I didn’t know what to call it, but it was highlighted by a string of They Might Be Giants anthems, including “Istanbul (Not Constantinople)”, “Birdhouse in Your Soul” and “Ana Ng”.

Sometimes it’s the simplest of guitar riffs that reel us in. There’s nothing intricate or terribly unique about it. But it forms the rhythmic bed for the song’s entire contents — from the melody to the drum parts to the secondary instruments. Those ancillary instruments are worth noting. There’s no bass guitar listed in the liner notes. But there’s an accordion, an autoharp and even spoken word monologue. Lastly, the song’s meaning isn’t entirely clear to me. Is it about a long-distance romance? Or a day trip at the world fair? Or both? Maybe that doesn’t matter. The song had me at the track name and opening riff.

“Everything sticks like a broken record.”

"ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT" CYNDI LAUPER (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

Was Cyndi Lauper a product of 80s culture? Or was 80s culture a product of Cyndi Lauper? One thing’s for sure, few artists personified their era more so than Lauper. Right up there with Kate Bush, Madonna and Joan Jett, Cyndi Lauper was the epitome of self-expression. There was nothing contrived about her. No one else dressed like her. No one else danced like her. And certainly no one else sang like her. Which is why even on the cover song “All Through the Night”, Lauper was always doing things her own way.

Originally written by folk singer Jules Shear, Lauper took the song in an entirely different direction, switching from straight-ahead guitar strumming to synth arpeggios and headspinning chords. In true Cyndi Lauper fashion, the night somehow became maddening, frightening and euphoric all at the same time. Listening back to “All Through the Night”, I’m appreciating the synth grooves much more than when I first heard the song. They’re not just uniquely 80s, they’re uniquely Cyndi Lauper in all their eccentric glory.

“We have no past, we won't reach back. Keep with me forward all through the night.”

"WHAT YOU NEED" INXS (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

For a good 4-5 year stretch, INXS scratched a lot of musical itches for me. The decade was an era filled with hard rock, new wave, saxophone solos and frontman testosterone. And INXS seemed to check off all of those boxes. Early songs like “Original Sin”, “Don’t Change” and “This Time” were the stuff of alt rock radio. But by the time Listen Like Thieves came out, the band was knocking on mainstream pop radio’s door. Of course, Kick is where they blew the doors down a couple years later. But it all started with “What You Need”.

The first ten seconds of “What You Need” is one of the greatest song openings of the decade. The opening drum roll. A peculiar guitar pluck that feels like a sign of life from another planet. Another drum roll. And then the song’s signature guitar riff. It’s a song that wastes no time in getting started. A song full of hooks. And the hooks keep coming with Tim Farriss’ guitar interludes and Kirk Pengilly’s monstrous sax solos. Still, the star of “What You Need” is Hutchence, singing with a swagger reminiscent of Jim Morrison. Which isn’t a shabby comparison as far as frontmen go.

“Forget about the troubles in life. Don't you know, it's not easy. When you gotta walk upon that line.”

"NATURAL BLUES" MOBY (1999)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

With the Play album, Moby left the rave, but he didn’t leave electronica. He gave it a new skin, making it a desirable thing for listeners who wouldn’t necessarily spend their weekend nights at a techno club. Moby also found a way to make rhythm and blues accessible for a wider audience. In 1999, I couldn’t stop playing this album. But Track 8, in particular, was especially irresistable: “Natural Blues”.

The soul of the song is the sample from Vera Hall’s “Trouble So Hard”. But the heart is Moby’s synth and drumbeat orchestration. While some may think of the use of samples in music as lazy, Moby’s inclusion was anything but. “Natural Blues” was the result of sifting through countless folk and gospel field recordings. Hall’s haunting melody was recorded in 1937, but Moby’s track had this powerful way of resurrecting her voice and showing the world this hidden gem of a melody. Hall’s version was distraught and raw. Moby’s was gutsy and angst-ridden.

“Oh Lordy, Lord, trouble so hard. Oh Lordy, Lord, trouble so hard. Don't nobody know my troubles but God.”

"I USED TO LOVE HIM" LAURYN HILL (1998)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Lauryn Hill has one studio album to her credit, but it’s one for the ages. A hugely ambitious effort, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill was a concept album and a personal memoir. It rewrote the rules and redefined genres like soul and hip hop. It had that rare quality of making your whole being move. Not just your body, but your mind and soul. There were enough songs to get two albums out of it. And one song deserves more credit than it gets. The second half kicks off with one of the greatest, most glorious breakup songs ever: “I Used to Love Him”.

The doo-wop influences are all over Miseducation, and especially apparent in the opening harmony on “I Used to Love Him”. It’s one of the most memorable and iconic musical moments on the album. But the highlight is the dual rant from Hill and Mary J. Blige. The breakups described in the lyrics weren’t debilitating, they were liberating. The more I listen to “I Used to Love Him” the more I come to a beautiful realization. That the song is less about breakups and more about reclaiming your identity.

“I chose the road of passion and pain. Sacrificed too much. And waited in vain. Gave up my power. Ceased being queen.”

"DA FUNK" DAFT PUNK (1997)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

In 1997, there was a New York City club called Au Bar that my crew frequented quite a bit. When I say “frequented”, I mean going Wednesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday night within one week wasn’t exactly unheard of. We were young. We wanted action. And we devoured up all the music. Daft Punk played a big, big part of that. The debut album introduced us to French house, a genre that most of us didn’t know even existed. It was the soundtrack for our nights for the next couple of years until we all settled down and got girlfriends. One of those tracks was “Da Funk”.

Simple synth hooks. Driving, bass-heavy beats. Electromagnetic treble chords. And not much else. The beauty of “Da Funk” is that it wasn’t overly complex. This minimalist approach had a way of making you feel it so viscerally. And what is music’s job to do than allow you to feel it and experience it. Back at Au Bar, that’s all it was to us. And “Da Funk”, “Around the World”, “One More Time” and countless other Daft Punk tracks served their purpose. But what we didn’t realize was how pioneering the French duo was at the time, and how influential they would become.

"THE NEW POLLUTION" BECK (1996)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Odelay, like many Beck albums, is a euphoric musical playground. Swing on the samples. Slide down the classic guitar riffs. Climb onto the distortion-infused grooves . Ride on the hip-hop-influenced rhythms. Each track tickles a different fancy. “Devils Haircut” lays down a series of irresistible drum breaks. “Ramshackle” feels like a drunken, late night ode inside a seedy saloon. “Jack-Ass” serves as a foreshadowing to his somber Sea Change album. And then there’s “The New Pollution”.

The track has a sample-driven mentality, but the song seems to traverse these different sounds defiantly and bravely. 50’s TV music. Jazz-drenched samples. 60’s rock. Electronic blips. Somehow it all seems to go together so naturally. On “The New Pollution”, I love how Beck reinvents the tempo of his key sample: a slow sax solo from Joe Thomas’ “Venus” is given a swift kick in the ass with a faster, more brash version of itself, which is then mirrored by Beck’s own guitar.

“She's got a hand on a wheel of pain. She can talk to the mangling strangers. She can sleep in a fiery bog. Throwing troubles to the dying embers.”

"(NICE DREAM)" RADIOHEAD (1995)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

I was late to the Radiohead party, and probably didn’t even discover The Bends until Kid A descended on the music scene. I think both Kid A and OK Computer were remarkable, but I still preferred The Bends more because the guitars made their mark all over the album. Straight-ahead hard rock riffs in “Just” and the title track. Melancholic expressions on “Fake Plastic Trees” and “Street Spirit”. And spastic outbursts in “My Iron Lung” and “(Nice Dream)”. To this day, “(Nice Dream)” is still one of my favorite Radiohead tracks.

The first two and a half minutes feels like a lullaby. The last minute and a half seems like a nightmare. The song begins with a melody that nearly lulls you to sleep. There is nothing particularly Radiohead about the musicality. Nothing truly unexpected. But the guitar slowly intensifies while a stringed arrangement inserts itself into the dream before we’re jolted into the nightmare at the 2:26 mark. It’s cacophonous. Disorienting. And somewhat unwelcomed. Then, like that, we’re back into the lullaby again. Was the whole thing just a dream?

“If you think that you're strong enough. Nice dream. If you think you belong enough. Nice dream.”

"SELLING THE DRAMA" LIVE (1994)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

When I went off to college, grunge exploded. Everyone and their non-fanatic roommates were listening to Nirvana and Pearl Jam. But the true music fans, we’re devouring Smashing Pumpkins, Jane’s Addiction and Live. Throwing Copper is the album that I remember my college years by. Not Ten. Not Nevermind. It was still rock ‘n roll to me, but it was relatable. And the song that reeled me into the full album was “Selling the Drama”.

The thing that Live mastered as well as anyone at the time was the quiet-loud-quiet dynamic. Several of their songs on Throwing Copper have it as their blueprint, including “Iris”, “All Over You” and “I Alone”. But “Selling the Drama” stood out with its R.E.M.-esque mid-tempo melody before exploding into the chorus. The highlight, for me, was a self-fulfilling prophesy. Being able to see Live play “Selling the Drama” live. They were damn good in the live setting, and you better be with that band name.

“And to Christ a cross. And to me a chair. I will sit and earn the ransom from up here.”

"IN YOUR ROOM" DEPECHE MODE (1993)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Prior to Songs of Faith and Devotion, Depeche Mode was on a steady ascent. Black Celebration. Music for the Masses. Violator. With each release they outdid the previous LP. And they did it once again. Violator may be viewed by many as the band’s greatest recording. But I think Songs of Faith and Devotion was stronger from top to bottom. It was, more or less, a concept album, although few refer to it as that. Each song was part of a common thread of spirituality — and they were all strong tracks on their own. The band had become stadium rockers with songs like “Never Let Me Down Again”, “Personal Jesus” and “Stripped”. But “In Your Room” seemed to exist on another level. It was truly epic.

“In Your Room” furthered the Depeche Mode sound into a darker, guitar-driven world with industrial elements. It felt less tainted by sequencers. It was raw and characterized by that good kind of imperfection. It was also Alan Wilder’s last single with the band — a vastly underrated member of the band who helped define and execute Depeche Mode’s unique sound. I saw the guys perform on the Devotional Tour in ‘93, and the tensions within the band were palpable. It was an incredible album, but they were clearly not the same exciting live act. It was the end of an era, but they certainly ended it on a high note.

“Will you let the fire die down soon.”

"TOMORROW" MORRISSEY (1992)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

I’ll choose The Smiths over Morrissey’s solo catalog any day of the week, mostly because of the prominence of Johnny Marr’s guitar riffs that countered Morrissey’s unique songwriting style. But when Arsenal came out, it was like Morrissey flipped a switch. He was using a different band, went heavier on the guitars, and started dabbling with sub-genres like rockabilly and glam rock. Each song picked up where the other left off on the album, which finished off on a high note with “Tomorrow”.

I remember seeing Morrissey in ‘93 at Brandeis University, a college that managed to attract dozens of great alt rock staples, like Live, 10,000 Maniacs and others. When I saw Morrissey, we were standing in the Gosman Center gymnasium and he was practically staring right through us. The great paradox of “Tomorrow” and most of Morrissey’s catalog is that these songs of insecurity are sung and performed with such conviction. “Tomorrow” couldn’t fulfill my longing for a Smiths reunion, but every time I hear it I’m reminded of Andy Rourke, Mike Joyce and Marr — from the intro bass line to the piano epilogue.

“Tomorrow, will it really come? And if it does come, will I still be human?”

"ALWAYS ON THE RUN" LENNY KRAVITZ (1991)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Mama Said was my introduction to the Lenny Kravitz catalog. It was a fine entry point because it highlighted all the facets of Kravitz’s musicality. Every genre itch. Every tempo shift. He certainly wasn’t the first to combine guitar rock with soul, but he did it as well as anybody. Kravitz’s own personal musical interests were his influences — from James Brown and Curtis Mayfield to Zeppelin and Aerosmith. You can hear all of those influences colliding in “Always on the Run”.

Lenny was prolific and versatile as a musician — and may not necessarily have the greatest reputation as a collaborator. But on “Always on the Run”, he teamed up with his high school classmate Slash. This was almost a Guns ‘n Roses song, but it ended up getting shelved for Mama Said. At the 1:58 mark, Lenny exclaims “Slash”, so there’s no confusion that the kickass guitar solo was his GnR buddy, not himself. About one minute later, dualing saxophones and a trumpet usher us out with bravado.

“And my mama said, ‘Go get all that you're after’. And my mama said that love's all that matters.”

"HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS" COCTEAU TWINS (1990)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

It’s a shame more people don’t know the remarkable beauty and ingenuity of Cocteau Twins. The Heaven or Las Vegas album may have been their most well-known effort, but it still soars blissfully under the radar after all these years. The band helped create the soundscaped genre of dream pop much like how My Bloody Valentine helped shape the shoegaze equivalent. The title track, in particular, is one of my favorite Cocteau tracks to get lost in.

“Heaven or Las Vegas” emanates and enlightens. It could’ve made the darkest recesses of the earth sound euphoric. Elizabeth Fraser, once again, sounded more angelic than human. The swirling synths are practically hypnotizing, while the guitar holds you in a steady trance with these gorgeous cascading arpeggios and soaring riffs. Clocking in at nearly five minutes, “Heaven or Las Vegas” has become a shining example, not just of dream pop, but of any soundscape genre.

“I want to love. I've all the wrong glory.”

"I'M NOT THE MAN I USED TO BE" FINE YOUNG CANNIBALS (1989)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

With my The Raw & the Cooked CD in my boombox, I was in for a very good night. I could hear sounds never made before. I could be mesmerized. That rare mix of rock, soul and funk. And that one-of-a-kind voice in Roland Gift. Listening to it over 30 years after it was released I’m amazed that this unusual album was instantly embraced by mainstream and alt rock audiences alike. They were an overnight success, but they did it their way. And my favorite track of them all is “I’m Not the Man I Used to Be”.

This song threw together disparate genres in a blender and gave us something we never tasted before. An incredibly infectious throwback soul sound a la James Brown, sprawled out lavishly on a bed of trip-hop. While “She Drives Me Crazy” and “Good Thing” were right up my alley, “I’m Not the Man I Used to Be” was a little less obvious and jammed to a different groove.

“Wonder what I'm thinking. Wonder why I'm drinking. But it's plain to see. I'm not the man I used to be.”

"ACROSS THE LINES" TRACY CHAPMAN (1988)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Some musicians take a little longer to appreciate. That was the case for me with Tracy Chapman and her debut album. “Fast Car” was getting tons of radio airplay, but it wasn’t until I heard the full album that I really started to appreciate what she was doing that no one else was at the time. Some songs grabbed me instantly, like “Baby Can I Hold You” and “Mountains O’Things”. Others eventually got my full, undivided attention after a few listens, and none more so than “Across the Lines”.

“Across the Lines” was genius folk songwriting. It was at another level. This was a black singer giving us a sober look at the world she knew. The song combined the socio-political conscience of Dylan with the raw Americana portraits of Springsteen. It took an incredibly candid, minimalist approach with nowhere to hide. While other artists were wielding their electric guitars, firing up their synthesizers and screaming into their mics, Tracy was strumming on an acoustic and singing from her soul.

“Choose sides. Run for your life. Tonight the riots begin on the back streets of America. They kill the dream of America.”

"DON'T TALK" 10,000 MANIACS (1987)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

When In My Tribe came out, I couldn’t stop playing it. Those songs ushered me into a different world that I could get lost in over and over again. “What’s the Matter Here?” and “Like the Weather” got all the recognition and airplay, well, at least on college rock stations. But the really good stuff revealed itself halfway through the album with Track 6, an unassuming, but peculiar song called “Don’t Talk”.

While every song was gold on In My Tribe, there was something a bit more magical about “Don’t Talk”. Each of the other tracks seemed to move along at one pace and were characterized by a single persona. But “Don’t Talk” shifted back and forth between three tempos. It was constructed with multiple movements. While most of the album had a very straight-ahead folk sound, this song took some more risks, marrying the aforementioned folk elements with a swirly, shoegaze-inspired sound.

“The drink you drown your troubles in is the trouble you're in now.”

"BRING ON THE DANCING HORSES" ECHO & THE BUNNYMEN (1986)

For the second half of September, I’m putting my Mental Jukebox into a time machine, featuring the best songs on the best albums from the very best years of music. #70sThrough90sBestAlbum

Few albums captured the essence of the 80s better than the Pretty in Pink soundtrack. It was a defining soundscape for the Brat Pack and the exciting, yet incredibly awkward teenage world of John Hughes. The title track was an obvious hit. not to mention “If You Leave” and The Smiths’ mopey ballad “Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want”. But today I’m highlighting a song that less known in mainstream circles, but was huge for new wave kids like me: “Bring on the Dancing Horses”.

This was not Echo & the Bunnymen’s most celebrated song among the masses. That distinction belongs squarely on the shoulders of “The Killing Moon” and “Lips Like Sugar”. But it was an endearing staple for the band’s fans. It was smothered in layers of synth like molasses. A sugary, pop tune that benefited from a simple, catchy melody and a somewhat cryptic commentary on the human soul by Ian McCulloch. Hearing the guys perform this at Coney Island back in 2017, the song felt like a nostalgic new wave trip down memory lane.

“First I'm gonna make it. Then I'm gonna break it till it falls apart.”