"ALIVE AND KICKING" SIMPLE MINDS (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

Simple Minds was one of the steadiest rock bands of the 80s with a late bloom presence in the U.S. Songs like “Waterfront”, “All the Things She Said”, “Promised You a Miracle”, “Up on the Catwalk” and “Sanctify Yourself” had that special beauty of being truly distinct from each other, but all still assuredly part of the Simple Minds sound. For a band that was great at writing rock songs that we’re slightly left of center, it’s ironic that their biggest hit wasn’t even penned by them: the breakthrough anthem “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”. Which is why I think “Alive and Kicking” is actually the true breakthrough Simple Minds track.

“Alive and Kicking” is, by far, my favorite song from the band. Simple Minds’ strength has always been in the composition. With a remarkable consistency, they’ve been just really solid at melding Kerr’s vocals with each instrumental layer. Mel Gaynor’s drums were an underrated rhythmic force to be reckoned with in the 80’s. Never particularly complex, but always powerful and present in the right moments. Michael MacNeil’s synth arrangements shimmered with this unexplainable sense of optimism and hope. On “Alive and Kicking”, those riffs felt like a baptism. But the thing that made the track shine more than other great Simple Minds songs were the crushing guest vocals from Robin Clark, who could also be heard on David Bowie’s “Young Americans”. She brought such a powerful, soulful voice to the table and seemed to blend so naturally with the band’s rock agenda.

“What's it gonna take to make a dream survive?”

"WHAT I AM" EDIE BRICKELL & NEW BOHEMIANS (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

Shooting Rubberbands at the Stars was a breath of fresh air when it arrived on the scene. The sound was this unusual, quirky mix of folk, jangle pop and Jerry Garcia-like guitar playing. The album artwork was also a statement, looking like no other album cover before it. I realize the album was a bit polarizing, but it just made it so easy for me to love at the time. Songs like “Little Miss S.”, “Air of December”, and “Circle” would lure me into a daydream state. And none of it would’ve been possible without the breakthrough single “What I Am”.

“What I Am” was this weird bohemian anomaly. I thought it was catchy, but, more than anything, its oddball eccentricity is what attracted me to it. There was nothing else like it on the radio. It didn’t sound current. But it also didn’t sound like something out of the past either. In many ways, I’m surprised that it was so successful and so well-known beyond the alt rock music fans that first discovered it on stations like Long Island’s WDRE, Boston’s WFNX and L.A.’s KROQ. I could sense that it was a gift in a brief moment in time — and that moment was gone just like that.

“Philosophy is the talk on a cereal box. Religion is the smile on a dog.”

"THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (NAIVE MELODY)" TALKING HEADS (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

Talking Heads is one of the quintessential music acts of the decade. They helped round out the new wave genre with songs that dared to mingle in the universe of world music. No else did this. Songs like “I Zimbra”, “Slippery People”, “Born Under Punches” and “(Nothing But) Flowers” were global in scope. No one else could’ve made those songs. Their recording studios and concert stages were strewn with instruments most bands have never touched. But, if I’m honest, my favorite Talking Heads anthem is almost the antithesis of what made them so unique. The song is called “This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)”.

It lacked funk. There was not a single polyrhythm to be heard. No djembe. No congas. No surdo. It was almost all synthesizers, with Weymouth switching to guitar while Harrison played the bass lines off a Prophet synthesizer. And here’s the kicker. It was repetitive as hell. Almost monotonous. Which is the brilliance of the song. Truly a naive melody, the song hypnotizes you with its sameness. It always puts me in a good space. It always gets me good. Locks me in its groove. After hearing it, I know. This truly must be the place.

“Home, is where I want to be. But I guess I'm already there.”

"TIME (CLOCK OF THE HEART)" CULTURE CLUB (1982)

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

In the early 80s, Culture Club was churning out monster hit singles as fast and furiously as Wham! and Duran Duran. “I’ll Tumble 4 Ya”, “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me”, “Karma Chameleon”, “It’s a Miracle”, “Church of the Poison Mind”, the hits kept coming. And none grabbed me more than “Time (Clock of the Heart)”, which had this musical arrangement that seemed to be a near-perfect statement of the times.

One could argue that “Time (Clock of the Heart)” was the least Culture Club of all the aforementioned singles. And it’s probably true. But the beauty of the song is that lyrically it was recounting the preciousness of time in a romantic relationship, while musically it reflected all these elements of the song’s own time. Shimmery keyboard arpeggios. Soaring string arrangements. Fluttering sax solo. And that simple, yet unforgettable bass line played on a keytar of all instruments. The track was like a time capsule of 1982.

“In time it could have been so much more. The time has nothing to show.”

"JOHNNY COME HOME" FINE YOUNG CANNIBALS (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

When Fine Young Cannibals first came onto the scene, they had a short, glorious underground era. It was the days before Top 40 stardom, late night show appearances and platinum sales. Two songs really helped drive this vibrant, creative period: “Johnny Come Home” and “Suspicious Minds”. The latter was a modern rockabilly interpretation of the Elvis classic. It was an FYC twist. But “Johnny Come Home” was FYC at its core. When you dissect the recording, it becomes clear that this is the quintessential FYC track, not “She Drives Me Crazy” or anything else.

Most bands create their identity based on the melody and riffs of their songs. But FYC’s identity hinged on other factors. “Johnny Come Home” is a song whose verses barely resemble a melody of any sort. It’s a song that showcases the highly unusual and unique voice of Roland Gift. Its identity is largely based on its infectious rhythms. And it’s elevated with the most unusual of instruments for a modern rock track: the trumpet. When you put it all together, we have ourselves the unique FYC formula. All the elements that made them so addictive, so unusual and, ultimately, so successful.

“Nobody knows the trouble you feel. Nobody cares, the feeling is real.”

"TWO HEARTS BEAT AS ONE" U2 (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

From their inception through the 90s, much of U2’s catalog was dominated by Bono’s belting vocals and The Edge’s chiming timbres. For most bands, that would’ve been far more than enough. But U2 has always seemed to have to live up to impossibly higher expectations. Say what you will about them, but few bands have been as prolific as they’ve been. There have been a few misses, but the overall output is impressive. And on a couple of occasions it seemed like all four band members were firing on all cylinders. A true force to be reckoned with. It didn’t happen often, but when it did it was beautiful. Like on “Two Hearts Beat As One”.

One of the first instruments that I notice on any song is the bass. But for decades, many have said Adam Clayton was the weak link in the band. Musically, the bass often drives a song. But on many U2 tracks, he seems to take a back seat. Larry’s drums guide what he plays and The Edge’s chords tell him where to go. But on War, we saw some of his most ambitious playing, most notably on “New Year’s Day” and on “Two Hearts”, where he drives the songs with this muscular aggression and urgency. Next, factor in Larry’s relentless barrage on the snares, The Edge’s signature sixteenth-note grating and Bono being, well, Bono. And there we have one of the most powerful ensemble performances in the band’s history.

“I don't know my right from left. Or my right from wrong.”

"THERE MUST BE AN ANGEL (PLAYING WITH MY HEART)" EURYTHMICS (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

One of the most talented and versatile voices of our time is Annie Lennox. Throughout her time with the Eurythmics, her vocals spanned all kinds of genres, including rock, new wave, motown and soul. VH-1 once went so far as to name her "The Greatest White Soul Singer Alive”. A natural contralto, Lennox pushed up to the upper octaves with this falsetto that seemed to come down from heaven. She made good singers seem mediocre, most evident in vocal range-stretching tracks like “There Must Be An Angel”.

Be Yourself Tonight, as a full body of work, was quite different from the earlier Eurythmics synth-heavy aesthetic. It had much more rock, much more soul, even some Motown. I liked those songs, but “There Must Be An Angel” is still my favorite track off the album because of Dave Stewart’s production mastery and synth hooks. A second movement to the song begins about halfway through the track with this soul-infused approach that culminates in a mind blowing harmonica solo by Stevie Wonder.

“This must be a strange deception. By celestial intervention. Leaving me the recollection. Of your Heavenly connection.”

"THE STAND" THE ALARM (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

A band somewhat easily forgotten, The Alarm would sound off every couple of years during the 80s with a killer track in between a few long snoozes. They weren’t constantly on my radar, but occasionally they would put out these incredible rock songs that would floor me. They reminded me that hard rock and new wave could indeed coexist. They did it with songs like “Sold Me Down the River”, “Rescue Me” and “Rain in the Summertime”. But it all started with “The Stand”, a confident track that appeared on the band’s debut EP and got some fair airplay on MTV.

Throughout rock history, the harmonica has reared its head for better and for worse. Dylan. Petty. Neil Young. Zeppelin. Springsteen. Cash, The Doors. The list goes on. Even still, The Alarm kept it fresh. Their harmonica interludes were aggressive, playing the role normally handed off to the lead guitar without a thought. On “The Stand”, the harmonica was also a catalyst. Listen in on the 1:50 mark to see how it revved up everything else, including the stormy guitar riff, the drum barrage and the chorus reprise. Like The Clash, Waterboys and a pub band on a beautiful collision course.

“Come on down and meet your maker. Come on down and make the stand.”

"UNION OF THE SNAKE" DURAN DURAN (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

Duran Duran had to live with the pretty boy image for far too long. That image has prevented many critics and music listeners from taking them more seriously and appreciating what they have to offer. But that original lineup was something. Simon Le Bon is a vastly underrated singer and songwriter. John Taylor practically invented his own rhythmic, often frenetic stylings on bass that could be heard decades later in Carlos D’s muscular bass lines with Interpol. And Nick Rhodes, Andy Taylor and Roger Taylor are talented musicians and arrangers in their own right. It all came together — and they all shined — on one of my favorite Duran Duran anthems growing up: “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.”

"SOUVENIR" OMD (1981)

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

OMD will forever be known as a John Hughes-era music staple. They penned one of the most famous 80s movie soundtrack songs, “If You Leave”, and topped it off with plenty more standout tracks like “Dreaming”, “Forever (Live and Die)” and “Secret”. But I think all that Brat Pack-fueled success almost did a disservice to the band. It overshadowed what they accomplished artistically in their first three albums, including Architecture & Morality, a vastly underrated album which contains a fantastic single called “Souvenir”.

Some of the best songs are the ones that envelope us into the ether. They transport us. Anywhere, but where our physical bodies may be. While few people would classify OMD as a post punk band, what they were doing on “Souvenir” was very post-punk in their mentality. The instrumentation was much more nuanced and layered in various synth sounds. And the song conjured up multiple emotional states, including euphoria, indifference and sadness, all in under four minutes. Structurally, it was anything but obvious, substituting a vocal chorus with the signature synth hook.

“My obsession. It's my creation. You'll understand. It's not important now.”

"THE WORKING HOUR" TEARS FOR FEARS (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

Songs from the Big Chair contained absolutely massive hits. Songs that defined an era, including “Shout”, “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” and “Head Over Heels”. But the album also showed us the band’s penchant for creating beyond the four-minute pop single. TFF could do new wave and straight-ahead pop in their sleep. But I think some of their more impressive work are those grander explorations where they saunter along the edges of jazz and classical. One of the best examples of this is “The Working Hour”.

It may not be the song that grabs you right away off that album, but, for me, it has the most staying power of any track on Songs from the Big Chair. The saxophone — and the grand piano to a lesser extent — were instruments that certainly thrived in the 80s. But TFF was using them in arrangements and executions that were uniquely their own. “The Working Hour” doles out sweeping soundscapes, key changes and instrumental jazz solos. It’s delightful. Grand. And timeless.

“Find out, find out, what this fear is about.”

"RAIN" THE CULT (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

The Cult is one of the most intriguing post-punk bands to come out of England. Though they cite Joy Division and Siouxsie & the Banshees as major influences, I don’t think they sound anything like them. Their contemporaries were the likes of The Cure and The Smiths. But, again, they don’t sound like them, either. And while many other outfits went knee-deep in synthesizers, The Cult went all in with the guitars. There was this interesting thing going on with their sound. Like a blend of hard rock, gothic rock and post-punk new wave. It sounded unlike anything else. “She Sells Sanctuary” was a true 80’s anthem. And right there behind it was a lesser heralded single off the same album, called “Rain”.

Ian Astbury once said that The Cult’s sound is all about the melodies and the guitars. Sounds simple, and it’s true. Those are the key elements of “Rain” and many other Cult classics. On “Rain”, Billy Duffy’s guitar riffs have this muscular structure to them, like something out of Jimmy Page’s almanac of riffs. And, as for the melody, those verses are like choruses — these lyrics that you can really sing along to. But Astbury sings it like he’s part Steven Tyler, part Jim Morrison, part indigenous tribal chief.

“Open the sky and let her come down.”

"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.”