What’s in a List? Musings on the Top 500 Song Criteria...

For a long time I fantasized (is that too strong a word?) about having an authoritative Top 500 list. I am not sure why now, in 2010, the time was right. Maybe it has to do with a certain birthday I just had. Maybe I finally felt confident (i.e., arrogant) enough in my perspective on the world of music that I was ready to engage in the most difficult and complex ranking exercise I have ever undertaken. Initially the idea was Top 1000, but my wife suggested that I was avoiding the hardest decisions. My critical pride could not weather this position and I conceded that a Top 500 list was more honorable.

I have been asked on several occasions to describe what my criteria are for song inclusion. I cannot say I had the time or inclination to apply any sort of formal ranking equation. See John Sellers’ fairly interesting book Perfect From Now On, for a bonafide equation to quantify the relative awesomeness of bands. Perhaps it should be done for songs as well. In any case, an intuitive process has been occurring in my head. And this process is paramount for proper defense of and debate about the Top 500. In other words, I am not proclaiming this list to merely be “My Top 500 favorite songs”. I am proclaiming this list as a candidate list for “THE Top 500 Best Songs”. Not that a proclamation such as this could ever be “ratified” as true (this is, after all, a tongue-in-cheek proposition)…but I will give you my reasons, and loudly so.

Let’s examine this a bit more. A friend suggested that a list like this cannot “fail”, it cannot be wrong, because it is MY list of favorite songs. A song is highly rated because I said so, because I love it, end of story. I vigorously challenge this intepretation. I did not construct a mammoth Top 500 list only to defend it with purely relativist arguments about art. Because to concede this position is to suggest that the Beatles can be equated with the Backstreet Boys.

[Note: Some VJ asswipe on MuchMusic ACTUALLY made this comparison in an interview with the Backstreet Boys. Or at least suggested, without a tinge of irony, that people were making such comparsions and that this was reasonable. If I hate the Backstreet Boys for one reason, it is because the lead jackass Boy who was responding DIDN’T say “Are your out of your mind? The Beatles? Please don’t embarrass yourself”. No, without a shred of self-consciousness, he neither accepted or denied this comparison, which essentially allowed its validity]

“But everyone is entitled to their opinion!”

There is not a more detestable sentiment, in my mind. Not because it is untrue – everyone IS entitled to their opinion, as we are free (generally) to say whatever the fuck we want. It is detestable because it is used as a warrant to make an argument that the opinion in question should be at least equally valued and, horrifyingly, “respected”. The “my opinion” argument is a lazy strategy to participate in debate without having anything to say. If this criticism sounds elitist, it’s because it IS elitist. Which I don’t mind in the least. I didn’t spend my entire life immersed in the immense beauty and vast world of music to have some hosebag lumber in with the opinion that “Van Halen rules”.

["They totally rule, man! They ROCK! They kick the ASS of the fag music you listen to. What is that band…Joy Divison? That’s shit. That’s not music. HALEN is music, dude"]

Subjectivity is in the details. If your favorite song on Bob Dylan’s Blonde on Blonde is “Visions of Johanna” and mine is “Just Like a Woman”, there is a very little information available that could aid us in discerning “who is right”, and nor should we try – we can happily agree to disagree. However, if you proclaim that Corey Hart is a better artist than Bob Dylan then I will argue the point. The fact that your preference for Corey Hart’s crybaby rock balladry is based on your own opinion will not save you. You are entitled to your opinion, but that doesn’t mean your opinion is an informed and defensible one. Now of course I am not suggesting that taste can be somehow objectively legislated – Corey Hart lovers can happily lap up his pabulum all they like. But if you are going to engage in any sort of argument about “relative worth” or “merit” then you better have more to go on than your mere unregulated opinion.

The Top 500 Ranking Criteria – A Recipe for Aural Goodness

And so here I have 8 criteria that help my muddled brain sift through the reasons why a song is great, Top 500 worthy, and better than other songs that are also quite good. The percentages are rough weightings.

1. Overall Sense of Awesomeness – 25%
2. Melody and Hookiness – 25%
3. Vocal Execution – 15%
4. Sonics & Production – 10%
5. Lyrical Quality – 10%
6. Autobiographical Import - 10%
7. Historical Import – 5%
8. Uniqueness – up to +5% innovation bonus.

1. Overall Sense of Awesomeness

While all criteria are necessarily subjective, this one is especially so, because I am not attaching it to any specific dimension. If I tend to listen to a song a lot, especially over time, if I know it intimately, if it appears over and over on mixes for friends, and so on, it has a high level of awesomeness. These are the intangible, intuitive perceptions of a song. When I get backed into a corner about comparing a song I love to a song that I love less, this criterion may be applied. This is why, for example, I can happily select a #1 song that scarcely anyone has heard before.

2. Melody and Hookiness

This element is the most important song dimension. You would think it would go without saying, but it must be said. To me, a song survives or dies based on its melody and that intangible quality called “catchiness”. Songs suck because they have low melodic character. The centrality of melody is the main explanation of why I have a general dislike of rap and hip hop, many forms of jazz, and many forms of classical (this will be elaborated in another posting, at some point). All this said, melody alone rarely wins the day because several of the other criteria can completely compromise a good melody. The best songs in the world sung by Whitney Houston or Celine Dion quickly become awful loads of shit. What exactly constitutes a “good melody” is a mystery of the art. I’m not sure we’ll ever quite know, even if we can identify a few compelling devices that can be used to great melodic effect (e.g. a prolonged delay in resolving a chord progression, a rising key change coming out of bridge, etc.).

3. Vocal Execution

Vocal execution can make or break a song. Somehow, when vocal approaches become recycled recipes for pop stardom, I land on the side of dislike. I question myself all the time if I am being an elitist outsider. Am I disliking a vocal because the masses love it? I can’t be. My reaction is visceral and automatically negative when I hear vocals of modern alternative, 80s heavy metal, overwrought pop balladry, and twangy new country. The fact that these pop categories sell millions of records is not my problem. So does Radiohead, and Thom Yorke’s vocal execution, within the band’s oeuvre, is transcendent.

To use an example, I am of the opinion that Celine Dion is objectively terrible because her communicated vocal intent is so saccharine, so insipid, so overwrought, that she loses all artistic credibility. It’s like telling someone you love them with a recycled Hallmark card – its cliched emotional larceny, and it should be stopped. To say I hate Celine Dion’s voice, however, is a complicated position to take, since she obviously sings in tune and can belt out a song like nobody’s business. She is techically expert. She also makes me want to stab ice picks into my ear drums. This criterion is not about “vocal talent” but execution, which is remarkably different. Execution refers to style and emotional intent, rather than professionally developed talent that returns the same genre category regardless of who is emoting. This is, essentially, the difference between the raw beauty of unestablished folk music and the commodified, formulaic singing we find in American Idol.

It’s the difference between Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel (above) and, say, Michael Buble. Mangum has an authenticity in his vocal execution that is so alarmingly personal and powerful that it makes Buble embarrassing to even acknowledge. It does not matter that Mangum is sometimes flat, and sometimes can’t hit the high notes. In fact, the high end vocal cracks add to the fragile emotional character. It’s the difference between Becky Stark of Lavender Diamond (above, at right) – who is technically wobbly at times but who can bring me to tears – and Beyonce, who can sing, but bores me with her warmed over pap.

4. Sonics and production

Sonic decisions – decisions about sound, instrumentation, arrangements – must be tormenting for some artists. As a musician myself, being confronted with 10x10 (100) MIDI synthesizer options or guitar effects can be downright paralyzing. Some artists stick to a recipe of sound that defines them, which is comforting (if sometimes limiting). For example, Elliot Brood sticks to the two guitars, banjo, and a basic drum set up, ensuring a consistent flow of dark cowpunk anthems. Others embrace electicism, like the Flaming Lips and Yo La Tengo, which translates into cross-genre hopping and diverse sonic outcomes. Whether under a directive of consistency or eclecticism, these decisions are crucial. Deciding to transmit the backdrop melody via a vibraphone or steel drum has drastically different sonic consequences than doing so via electric guitar or hammond organ. Great bands make great decisions, and the Top 500 represent the best of these decisions. You need only listen to the array of inferior cover versions of your favorite songs for this point to sink in.

Production is another facet of sonic decisions, but is more fundamental. Production decisions may subsume many sonic decisions but they are also concerned with the overall Gestalt of the song. A great song with great sonic decisions, fabulous melody and vocal execution, etc., can still be compromised by ill-advised production and mastering decisions. A favorite example is the “Phil Spector-ing” of The Beatles’ Let it Be – classical string and choral additives made “Across the Universe” a very different song for the final mix. Some argue that Spector ruined it. I’m undecided, but what a different feel the song has on the untouched Past Masters!

The question for the Top 500 is, what constitutes superior sonics and production, all other elements assumed equal? This is a pretty personalized thing…I suppose I feel that there are extreme, oversized examples where its alllllll wronngggg – comprised of mostly Top 40 radio. But then within the parameters of more flexible and independent music it is highly subjective. For example, I think we should all agree that Creed and Nickelback have a consistent sonic and production quality that is extremely tired and featureless – we should all reject the sound as unredeeming and lame. But then if you find a particular Sufjan Stevens song a little too neo-classical and busy, well, that’s your issue and I don’t care to quibble with you. I also won’t mind if you find Times New Viking too fuzzy and abrasive. They are, and its not for everyone. Fucking love it though.


5. Lyrical quality

I have a strange relationship with lyrics. The impact of lyrics on how much I like song is like an elongated “U” distribution, seen below (please click to enlarge):

For the most part, lyrics that are approaching good or approaching bad do not have much an impact on the extent to which I like or dislike a song. I can be fairly indifferent (represented, predictably, by the “Zone of Lyrical Indifference” in the graphic). Only once lyrics start to become “Great” do they really figure into the equation. Conversely, lyrics that approach “Awful” can begin to totally fuck a song. For example, when I was a teen I remember initially liking “Sky Pilot” by The Animals. Then I started to pay attention to some of the lyrics. Eric Burdon, a legend to most classic rockers, has the lyrical aptitude of a fourth grader. Here is a cardinal sin: never, EVER, rhyme “cry” with “die” (or “sigh”), unless you're Morrissey.

He smiles at the young soldiers
Tells them its all right
He knows of their fear in the forthcoming fight
Soon there'll be blood and many will die
Mothers and fathers, back home they will cry
Sky pilot.....sky pilot
How high can you fly?
You'll never, never, never reach the sky

The “Mothers and fathers, back home they will cry” line has Yoda-esque syntax, obviously constructed to get that crucial “die” rhyme down along to the end of the stanza. It’s embarrassing, and the lyrical impotence of this anti-war song otherwise destroyed a fairly good melody.

Conversely, the song “Suzanne” by Leonard Cohen is so rich with metaphor I am still discovering meanings in it 20 years later. The song itself is understated, with a basic acoustic guitar line and an anachronistic (but lovely) 60’s backing vocal. The melody is wonderful, but I wonder where this song would sit in the Top 500 without the lyrical wonder. Suzanne is #10 on my all-time list, and as represented in the graph, when a song has astounding (“sublime”) lyrics, the overall liking function grows exponentially. Here’s the second stanza:

And Jesus was a sailor
When he walked upon the water
And he spent a long time watching
From his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain
Only drowning men could see him
He said "All men will be sailors then
Until the sea shall free them"
But he himself was broken
Long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone
And you want to travel with him
And you want to travel blind
And you think maybe you'll trust him
For he's touched your perfect body with his mind.

Entire doctoral dissertations could be written around these lines.

In any case, I think intentionality also plays a role in my appraisal of lyrics.  The Doors wrote poor lyrics because Morrison fancied himself a mystical sage or something and his profundity fell short 95% of the time.  If he stuck to "Light My Fire" type lyrics, I wouldn't begrudge him a thing and the Doors would probably fall in my Zone of Lyrical Indifference.  Camper Van Beethoven do not suffer in the least for writing about skinheads and dogs flying away to the moon.  There are no grandiose intentions and so there is no need to make judgments against them.  That's why pop love songs are so often abhorrent...love should be profound or at least clever, but too much has been said about it, and we are forced to endure lyrical oatmeal.  But when you aim for transcendence and attain it?  The lyrics become the epicenter -- a half decent melody will often mean a superior song.

Incidentally, here are my Top 5 lyricists:

1. Billy Bragg
2. Matt Johnston (The The)
3. John Darnielle (The Mountain Goats)
4. Leonard Cohen
5. Stephen Merritt (Magnetic Fields)

Autobiographical Import

There are certain songs that were playing during critical times in my life, songs that are so inseparable from me and from my identity, that I have absolutely no hope of stepping outside of them and judging their merit. This is more than just being “too close” to a song. This about the song having intermixed with your DNA somehow -- you are genetically altered to respond to it. Interestingly, this need not suggest that the songs in question are your favorite songs. Rather, it is merely the case that a song is so autobiographically important, so essential to your person, that it is artificially improved in your estimation, even if that improvement doesn't translate into "favorite song" status.  Armageddon by Prism comes to mind or that ridiculous song by Aldo Nova ("Fantasy"?). These are bad songs made tolerable and occasionally enjoyable by nostalgia. On my critieria, they'd get high Autobiographical Import points, but not much else.

There are some songs that would stand on their own regardless – “Uncertain Smile” by The The is autobiographically crucial to me, which makes me love it all the more. But I think I know that it is a good song regardless.

Sometimes a song can exist as a favorite even though you are fairly certain you would otherwise hate it (or be indifferent to it) if you were to hear it today for the first time. My quintessential example is “Riverboat Fantasy” by David Wilcox. This style of bluesy frat-rock is abhorrent to me. Wilcox is a dolt and his kind of stuff is tripe. But I fucking love "Riverboat Fantasy", because it was playing all the time (to my consternation) on our dorm floor in first year university. This was a great year, a wonderful time of my life. Fond, fond memories have been encoded in the song, which I had internalized despite myself. I hear the song the way Wilcox intended – with carefree abandon. Hell, yeah! "Riverboat Fantasy" did not make the Top 500 on the grounds that if I removed it from my biography, I would actively dislike it. Another example is the theme song “Free To Be You and Me” by Marlo Thomas– a nostalgia trip every time.

I should mention that autobiographical effects can sometimes work in the other direction. I might be inclined to reject a song that I would otherwise like because of its place in my own history. I’m looking at you, “Stairway to Heaven”. Historical Import (described below), of which Stairway to Heaven has buckets, is always trumped by Autobiographical Import.

Historical Import

There are some songs that deserve added consideration because of their place in the pantheon of rock music. There are a number of examples that moved up the ranks for this reason. “Won’t Get Fooled Again” by The Who, “Born to Run” by Bruce Springsteen, “Let it Be” by the Beatles and “Comfortably Numb” by Pink Floyd were all initially placed lower than their final positions. Why? Because I completed the list, looked at it, and then became uncomfortable or even disgusted with how poorly I treated these Rock MONOLITHS. How could “Won’t Get Fooled Again” not get into the Top 50? Similar to Autobiographical Import, it is hard to separate the song from historical context -- suddenly the song has historical “rights” that one is required to respect.

I experienced Historical Import most profoundly when I was deciding how to represent The Byrds. The Byrds were an important band – the words jingle and jangle would be less potent without them. But the Byrds can also be accused of standing on the shoulders of giants. Many of their hits were reworkings of other luminaries – the filching from Dylan was legendary. As I poured over my favorite Byrds songs, I felt only one would need representing and I landed on “Turn! Turn! Turn!” This song, originating from Pete Seeger, is so engrained in popular 60’s counterculture, so iconic, epic even, that there was no other choice. I flirted with

 “Eight Miles High” and “Chimes of Freedom”, but they are pale comparators to this giant of a song. Now, of course I love the soaring harmonies of this gem, of course I do, but it is the Historical Import that pushes the song into Top 500 contention. Because frankly I find the sentiment of the song itself (filched not from Dylan but from Ecclesiastes 3:1) to be silly, trite, and possibly offensive. There is a time for hate! When is that, King Solomon!? When is that Pete Seeger!? I suppose it doesn’t matter when Roger McGuinn, David Crosby, and Gene Clark are weaving their harmonies.


Uniqueness

I pay attention to innovation, to experimentation, to songs that challenge the listener in some way. If this is done in the pop format and does not sacrifice other criteria, this makes a song stand above the overly crowded pop landscape. For example, the sonic/production of Animal Collective are trailblazing a whole new genre and this translates into a high level of Uniqueness, making them one of my Top 5 bands of the new millenium. Some recent examples of envelope-pushing in the pop format are the Dirty Projectors and Dan Deacon.

Okay, stay tuned till next time when I answer a question posed by Barry from High Fidelity.