75 Days, 2 Lists, 1 Giant Waste of Time

[Idioteque Stalker]

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75 Days, 2 Lists, 1 Giant Waste of Time



Idioteque Stalker: In Spring 2007, after finishing my last favorite songs list, I promised myself I would update it four years later.

quido8_5: Everything in It’s Right Place was #1. Spoiler: It was a good list.

Idioteque Stalker: It was alright.

quido8_5: So good, in fact, that when IS told me about his new list I decided to copy him. This time around, we decided to fully exploit social networking. All our posts will be published on Twitter, Facebook and our website thisisalist.com. This allows you greater flexibility when digesting it and us greater torpidity when creating it. As such, we’ve put restrictions on the commentary.

Idioteque Stalker: Out of respect for our new found allegiance to all things social media, our comments will be tweet-sized, increasing or decreasing by one word with every subsequent song.

quido8_5: The number of words for each of my entries will coincide with the song’s position. For instance, when Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like a Woman” lands at 1, I will write 1 word about it. A difficult, but rewarding experience. Today’s entry will have 75 words.

Idioteque Stalker: And mine will be the opposite: My #1 will have 75 words while today’s entry will have only 1.

quido8_5: ...i.e. the easy way.

Idioteque Stalker: Only if you’re insecure about your #1.

quido8_5: or really confident.

Idioteque Stalker: Anyway, just so you know what you're getting yourself into, I’ve recently found myself drawn to the psychedelic, moody and/or just-plain-odd end of the pop spectrum.

quido8_5: And I seem to dig polar ends of said spectrum, with penchants for sparse works or grandiose themes. Either way, my central tendency is toward honesty, whether it’s lyrical or instrumental.

Idioteque Stalker: Just so you know, I've disqualified any song that made my list last time around. Marcel Duchamp told me to do it:

"I force myself to contradict myself in order to avoid conforming to my own taste." - MD

We hope you enjoy.

[Idioteque Stalker]

75. "No Awareness" - Dr. Octagon

[youtube]W__sSidbMHg[/youtube]

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[quido8_5]

#75
$20 by M.I.A.


Oh my God, that trick stole that hook? And so I wrote the album off for around two years. Unsurprisingly it was this beguiling, undeniable anthem that brought me back. Smart, eclectic and totally badass, $20 is probably the best distillation of what made MIA such a force. It is also one of the biggest songs I have ever heard, filling stadiums or headphones with equal depth. That hook on that artist… :sigh: sounds amazing.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d59AI12xgwo

[Skitch]

What the hell is going on here? This thread is suspect.

[Derek]

What the hell is going on here? This thread is suspect.

2 posters listing their 75 favorite songs in one thread. What's not to get?

[Skitch]

2 posters listing their 75 favorite songs in one thread. What's not to get?

Nevermind me, then. ritch:

[quido8_5]

39) Jambalaya (On the Bayou) by Hank Williams
Few things are more charming than a good country ballad. While this song gets instant inclusion for it’s role in The Last Picture Show, it also has redeeming southern qualities that are as ingrained as sweet tea, racism and moonshine. Speaking of moonshine, Jambalaya embodies inebriated memories. With it's deep Cajun roots and blissful instrumentation, the song creates a southern Eden found mostly in sharing meals, gentile dancing and gumbo. Given that all participants must surely be three-sheets by the time this song takes place, the setting Hank Williams creates is equally bucolic and alluring. All hazy strings and twangy vocals, On the Bayou takes a standard tune and endows it with a sense of place through timeless lyrics and good ole’ fashioned charm. That it’s difficult to interpret said lyrics and, yet, still totally understand what Hank’s saying is a testament to the power of Country music.


38) Touching Something's Hollow/A Eluardian Instance by Of Montreal
Nothing really begins or ends on Of Montreal's divisive and brilliant Skeletal Lamping . Like Finnegan's Wake it's an unending loop that is enjoyable, albeit in a masochistic fashion. Yet, these songs* offer a little bit of a rallying cry. Beginning with an abrupt existential pause after three relentlessly Dionysian songs, Touching Something's Hollow offers the first glimpse at Kevin Barnes' Apollonian beauty. After hearing about all kinds of sexual deviance, the honesty and desperation of this songs' lyrics are arresting.

Why am I so damaged, girl?/
Why am I such poison, girl?
I don't know how long I can hold on/
if it's gonna' be like this forever.

It's the kind of emotionally immature thoughts we don't admit, even to the closest of friends- maybe even to ourselves. It's just at the bottom of the cycle, just before the last key of Touching Something's Hollow has resolved, that the utterly optimistic hook of A Eluardian Instance comes in like a hit of MDMA. Everything returns to neon hues. We're once again young and independent and going to beaches we never did and meeting fucking mountain goats**. The memory reel runs backward and hindsight is 20/20, so everything is coming through like you just got new glasses.

If Touching Something's Hollow is an ugly portrait of the bottom, A Eluardian Instance is a beautiful fever dream of the clouds.

* I'm bending the rules a little here because each of these could certainly be considered independent tracks; however, listening these together provides such a wallop that I've always considered them two sides of the same coin.
** Which, in that state of youthful idealism, who knows how much any of this song is accurately remembered.


37) Angel from Montgomery by John Prine (Performed Dave Matthews etc.)
I could not hate myself more for including this, especially so high. At the same time, I'd be lying if I didn't claim this as a favorite. A particularly personal favorite, in fact.

I'm not sure how I came upon this live track, performed just before Matthews must have took his last hit and passed out, but it's a lovelorn track that's difficult not to love. Like the surely deadbeat protagonist, Matthews' performance rests on torpid vocals and breezy technical proficiency. While the words coming out of his mouth are venomous ( How can someone go out in the morning/ come home in the evening/ they got nothing to say ), it's delivered with such a thick brogue, with just the right amount of sweetness, that it feels pleasant to forgive the shortcomings.

Dave Matthews never had anything to say, really. But, when he was covering other people, it played up all of his skills: taste, skill and charm. A generation of bros learned how to manipulate people while listening to DMB for good reason, Dave Matthews knows what he's talking about and is willing to fake-it-till-he-makes-it. In his own music there's a veneer of sentimentality; however, for the man himself, it's bare-bones honesty that works best.