"JOEY" CONCRETE BLONDE (1990)

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

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.

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.”

"ACROBAT" U2 (1991)

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

In my freshman year in college, I think I unconsciously surveyed everyone’s taste in music that I came across, focused mainly around my hall mates. The tastes were varied — from grunge feigns hooked on Nirvana to funk rock freaks who couldn’t get enough of the Chili Peppers to industrial rockers whose daily intake consisted of Skinny Puppy, Ministry and Front 242. But the one universal album that everyone seemed to play and revere was U2’s Achtung Baby. In college, it served as the great equalizer because there seemed to be something for everyone on that album, from the distortion-soaked banger “The Fly” to the quiet-loud dynamics of “Until the End of the World” to the pop-soaked and melodious “Mysterious Ways”. For me, the finest track was the second to last song on the album: “Acrobat”.

It may be one of the most overlooked tracks on the whole album, but I don’t know why. I saw somewhere that the band didn’t play it live until 2018. It certainly wasn’t a common U2 anthem, but what it had going for it were these great experimental elements. The time signature felt somewhat eccentric, but slightly reminiscent of the cadence that the band took for “Bullet the Blue Sky”. The eccentricity carries over on The Edge’s guitar work, from the sonic surges in the verses to those jaw-dropping cascading effects coming out of the chorus. I think what I appreciate most about “Acrobat” is that it’s a track that’s not reliant on a single, signature guitar riff. Instead, each hook seems to evolve and grow out of one other throughout the entire song.

“You know that your time is coming 'round, so don't let the bastards grind you down.”

"LIGHT FROM A DEAD STAR" LUSH (1994)

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

One of my favorite bands from the 90’s shoegaze era is Lush. They made songs that I could get lost in. However, there was a sense of grounding that I felt in their catalog, even as the songs were resolutely ethereal and atmospheric. That grounding took the form of bass lines that stood clearly as rhythmic cornerstones and more pop-oriented melodies that you could sing along to a cappella. One of the clearest examples of these musical attributes is “Light From A Dead Star.”

As the opening track to the 1994 release Split, “Light From A Dead Star” consists of four key movements. The first one is a gorgeous overture that sounds like an orchestra tuning up before a shoegaze concerto. The second movement is a brief interlude before the song launches into the stratosphere, beginning like the opening bars to Depeche Mode’s “Black Celebration” before settling into a mid-tempo cloud of listlessness. The third movement is where the dead star illuminates at its brightest, riding on the rhythmic bed of Chris Acland’s drum kit and Phil King’s meandering bass lines. By the fourth movement, the light begins to flicker out, sounding like a star on life support. Absolutely frail and gorgeous.

“Don't listen when they say they wish I could stay. And now it's just too late to wish me back again.”

"LEAST COMPLICATED" INDIGO GIRLS (1994)

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

When I first discovered Indigo Girls around 1990, I was drawn to their songs in a way that I haven’t experienced much before. Songs like “Love’s Recovery”, “History Of Us” and “Secure Yourself” felt like old photo albums with faded edges to flip through. The songs had a way of adding gravity to the most important moments in life, giving me a deeper, wiser perspective on family, life and love. I saw them in ‘91 and ‘92, once at Port Chester’s Capitol Theatre and once at Foxboro Stadium as part of the Earth Day concert lineup. What I found fascinating is how well their songs translated in vastly different venues. Two years later, Swamp Ophelia was released, featuring one of my all-time Indigo Girls songs, “Least Complicated”.

It was one of the tracks that shaped my soundtrack for the summer of ‘94. I stayed up in Boston that summer, and a few of us either bummed around or quit our summer jobs and drove up to the north shore to lounge on sandy beaches. Our road trip mixes included “Least Complicated”, which had everything that I like about the band. Melodies that feel like the stuff of campfire songs. Minimal instrumentation that bring the acoustic guitars to the forefront. And those lovely Indigo Girls harmonies that seem to boldly flank opposite ends of the octaves.

“It's awful quiet here since love fell asleep.”

"WALKING IN MY SHOES" DEPECHE MODE (1993)

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

Violator will forever be known as the album that put Depeche Mode on the map. It was the album that truly brought their music to the masses; ironically it wasn’t the one preceding it. Still, when you look at the album immediately following Violator — Songs of Faith and Devotion — one can argue that it was the better of the three albums from top to bottom. The band felt completely locked in, despite the growing tensions within the group. And one of the highlights from this rich album is “Walking In My Shoes”.

Did DM turn into a rock band overnight? The instrumentation showed a rougher edge to the band with live drums, muscular guitar riffs and large doses of feedback. But the songwriting was still Martin Gore at the core. The exceptionally crafted lyrics straddled that delicate balance of vulnerability and brashness as told through the voice of a convict inside a courtroom. I got to see the band perform this song live on the Devotional Tour. There was no question that the infighting happening with the band affected their energy. For a few years, Depeche Mode had earned a reputation for being great live performers. While the showmanship just wasn’t there, it was clear that DM turned a corner. By expanding their sound to include more rock elements, somehow they found their sweet spot musically.

“Now I'm not looking for absolution. Forgiveness for the things I do. But before you come to any conclusions, try walking in my shoes.”

"KIND & GENEROUS" NATALIE MERCHANT (1998)

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

It’s hard to imagine my listening experience without mentioning the importance 10,000 Maniacs played in expanding my musical tastes. They were a band that got their exposure on alt rock radio though they sounded nothing like the other acts. But it’s the band’s catalog — and In My Tribe, in particular — that kicked off my interest in folk rock. Songs like “Don’t Talk”, “Hey Jack Kerouac” and “Verdi Cries” drew my attention to Natalie Merchant’s lyrics. While I’m not as big a fan of her solo work from an instrumental perspective, the lyrics were always strong, including the simple and sincere “Kind & Generous”.

The song is timeless, but even more than that, it has seen periods of resurgence, taking on new significance with various world events. This is the power of “Kind & Generous”. It’s message of gratitude continues to resonate and find new meaning, most recently during the COVID-19 pandemic. The song was featured in a commercial last year thanking healthcare workers on the frontline. As universal as the song’s theme is, I can’t think of a track that uttered the words “thank you” better than this one. And with that, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving. Thank you for allowing me to share my love for music with you.

“For your kindness I'm in debt to you. And I never could have come this far without you.”

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

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

The 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 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’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. “Deep Green Sea” is one of the great underrated Cure songs, which somehow pulls me in deeper every time I hear it.

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

"40 DAYS" SLOWDIVE (1993)

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

Shoegaze is a genre that literally took me decades to appreciate. I’ve always loved its atmospheric predecessors, like the Cocteau Twins, The Cure and Siouxsie & the Banshees. But once bands like My Bloody Valentine and Lush started blending various sounds to a nearly indecipherable blur, I was ready to peace out. I loved hearing the distinct instrumental contributions of every band member. As I’ve gotten older, that mindset has changed. When Japanese Breakfast’s Michelle Zauner interviewed Sopranos actor Michael Imperioli, the actor stated that he loved Shoegaze because it creates a world for the listener to get lost in. This is exactly what I like about it now — particularly with Slowdive’s “40 Days”.

Like on many Slowdive tracks, the vocals, guitars, bass, drums and keyboards are blended into a euphoric smoothie. You can’t tell one instrument from the other. The band members are one, creating a beautiful, sonic daydream. But what makes “40 Days” a little different from the majority of the Slowdive catalog is the prominence of its infectious melody. For once, it seemed like the sounds were all riding the blissful wave of the melody, instead of the other way around.

“It's the summer I'm thinking of. 40 days and I'm blown away.”

"PARALLEL UNIVERSE" RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS (1999)

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

Few bands feature bass players who overshadow their guitarist counterparts. But such is the case with Red Hot Chili Peppers. While I really like Frusciante’s guitar playing style a lot, Flea’s ambitious funk-fueled bass lines are awe inspiring and the star of the show on many RHCP songs. His bass lines are like guitar parts in and of themselves, worthy of the highest volume on your subwoofer. But, in stark contrast to RHCP’s plethora of bass-prominent tracks is “Parallel Universe”, an anomaly with freakishly atypical instrumentation for the band.

There’s a lot of shredding happening on this song. But not a lot of funk. Kiedis’ vocals, as usual, are muscular, gut-wrenching and plain rock & roll. However, Flea humbly takes a backseat on “Parallel Universe” while Frusciante’s guitar work thrashes, strums and picks its way to the foreground. There’s not one or two great guitar riffs. There are three of them. The frenetic opening riff, the hefty power chords in the chorus, and the instrumental bridge that kicks up the distortion levels to create something galactic. It may not be a typical Red Hot Chili Peppers anthem, but it still rocks hard, which is really all we ever wanted from the band.

“Deep inside of a parallel universe it's getting harder and harder to tell what came first.”

"LIQUID" JARS OF CLAY (1995)

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

Since The Beatles, it seems bands have been able to state their political beliefs much more easily than their spiritual convictions without being lambasted or labeled or both. Artists like Dylan, Johnny Cash, U2 and Sufjan Stevens are the exception. But Jars of Clay was the rule. They came out of nowhere with “Flood”, which got extensive airplay on both mainstream and alternative radio formats. But very quickly, they got pegged as the next big Christian rock band, which they were. And, if “Flood” didn’t make it obvious enough that they were singing about Christian faith, “Liquid” certainly did.

Gregorian chants. String arrangements from Adrian Belew. Soaring three-part harmonies. And overt lyrics about the crucifixion. It wasn’t the typical rock & roll song by any stretch. And I think that’s partly why I gravitated toward it so much compared to the more accessible “Flood”. The song felt deeply sincere and assured, and as personal as faith can get. And somehow, it seemed every bit as remorseful as it was hopeful.

“Arms nailed down. Are you telling me something? Eyes turned out. Are you looking for someone?”

"ANGEL" GAVIN FRIDAY (1995)

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

Prior to the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack, I hadnever heard of Gavin Friday or The Virgin Prunes. Later, I found out that he collaborated with Bono on a few tracks. He’s clearly a somebody in the music world, particularly in Ireland. But that didn’t matter for me. When the soundtrack came out, I was completely enveloped by it, and it became an album that my then-girlfriend and I listened to incessantly just because we saw that crappy, yet beautiful-looking movie that it came with. There were plenty of standouts on the record, but “Angel” soared to the top.

The funny thing about “Angel” is that it was written before Romeo + Juliet, despite feeling like it was made just for the movie. The song mirrors the complicated situation that the main characters found themselves in. Like my then-girlfriend and I, they were helplessly in love to the point where it becomes impossible to put the brakes on it despite the impending doom. Flanked by gorgeous swirling synth layers, Friday’s falsetto feels like the whispering angel on one shoulder at times and the deceitful demon on the other.

“Angel.... hold on to me, love is all around me.”

"GOOD RIDDANCE (TIME OF YOUR LIFE)" GREEN DAY (1997)

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

Green Day is a bit of a guilty pleasure of mine. Many serious music listeners have written them off citing over-simplistic instrumentation and chord progressions. But I don’t mind so much that they’re simple. They are, after all, a punk rock band. No one ever gave The Ramones any grief despite them being guilty of the same musical “infractions”. What may actually be overlooked is the fact that Billy Joe Armstrong is quite a talented and underrated storyteller. For proof, just listen to Green Day’s rock operas American Idiot and 21st Century Breakdown. And then there was also that one anomaly of a song, “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)”.

“Good Riddance” was written about an old girlfriend of Armstrong’s who left the country. But, over the years, it has become a song for all of us. It’s a graduation song, a breakup song, a wedding slide show song, a college reunion song, the list goes on. It’s also usually the last song played at a Green Day concert. It’s a song that ushers us back in time. Not just in a purely sugarcoated nostalgic way, but in a way that takes all the good with all the bad. Somehow this song has helped me put all of it in its proper perspective.

“So take the photographs and still frames in your mind. Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time. Tattoos of memories, and dead skin on trial. For what it's worth, it was worth all the while.”

"GLAMOROUS GLUE" MORRISSEY (1992)

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

In the winter of ‘92, a few friends of mine at Boston College took a short T-ride over to the nearby campus of Brandeis University. Brandeis turned their Gosman Center into a money-making machine, attracting several great college rock acts, including 10,000 Maniacs, Live and many others. On this particular night, we saw Morrissey. His stage presence was quite something. There were times I felt like he was staring right at me. During the tour, Morrissey was clearly in love with his new album Your Arsenal — playing nearly every track from it. While I like Your Arsenal a lot, this meant that the older material sadly got shortchanged. But one new song that really excelled in the live setting was “Glamorous Glue”.

There’s an irresistible, head-nod-inducing strut driving “Glamorous Glue” from beginning to end. The drum beat reminds me of that old Smiths classic, “Panic”. But there were hints of rockabilly and glam rock seeping into the spaces. What made this song strangely addictive was the guitar, which sounded super-charged at points like a T.Rex guitar hook. Hearing it live, something strange occurred that I wasn’t expecting. I didn’t miss or crave The Smiths one bit. “Glamorous Glue” proved that Morrissey could rock out without his old bandmates.

“Everyone lies, nobody minds.”

"EVERYTHING IS EVERYTHING" LAURYN HILL (1998)

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

I was never a big fan of hip hop, mainly because I find original instrumentation to be much more satisfying than sample dropping and beats. That said, The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill is probably one of my all-time favorite albums. As a concept album, it told a larger story that I could practically visualize in my head. This made the album much more appealing aside from having just individual standout tracks. Scenes of an inner city classroom danced in my head as one song blended into another. There isn’t a weak track on the album, but my favorite, by far, is “Everything is Everything”.

It’s hard to think of another song based on two chords that’s as gripping as this one. Those two simple chords formed an irresistible, unforgettable hook, forged by John Legend on piano and the Indigo Quartet on strings. It’s the heartbeat of the song, But what made “Everything is Everything” even more unique was the vocal performance. Lauryn Hill criss-crossed genres so seamlessly, going from R&B to hip hop to soul. Perhaps this is what makes The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill so appealing. It’s not simply a hip hop record, it’s so much more.

“I wrote these words for everyone who struggles in their youth, who won't accept deception, instead of what is truth.”

"TODAY" THE SMASHING PUMPKINS (1993)

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

I’m not the biggest fan of the grunge era. But when it was happening, it seemed fitting for the times. The genre became so big that it was practically impossible to prevent it from defining our life soundtrack no matter how much we detested it. The band that I liked most of that period was The Smashing Pumpkins. First, the music rocked as hard as the band name did. Second, as much of a control freak Billy Corgan was, I always appreciated his respect and admiration for all the great bands that came before them. And any Rush fan is a fan of mine. Siamese Dream was on heavy rotation in our dorms at college. So many great bangers on that album, but “Today” was the standout.

I’ve written previously about my affinity for songs that employ quiet-loud-quiet dynamics. And The Smashing Pumpkins did it as well as anyone. “Today” is a tale of two cities in rock form, going from quiet, dreamy verses to absolute nightmare fits of distortion in the chorus. At one point in the song, the guitar riff sounds like a siren coming from a fire truck. Then moments later, it sounds like it lit itself in scorching flames. “Today” is not a song for the faint of heart. It’s explosive, and at times sounds more like metal than alt rock. There will never be another rock song quite like it again.

“Today is the greatest day I've ever known. Can't live for tomorrow. Tomorrow's much too long. I'll burn my eyes out before I get out.”

"WISE UP" AIMEE MANN (1999)

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

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

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

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

"ONE HEADLIGHT" THE WALLFLOWERS (1997)

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

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

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

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

"AUTUMN SWEATER" YO LA TENGO (1997)

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

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

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

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

"GO" MOBY (1991)

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

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

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

"ROUND HERE" COUNTING CROWS (1993)

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

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

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

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