{"id":1743556,"date":"2009-08-21T22:07:00","date_gmt":"2009-08-21T19:07:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1743556"},"modified":"2009-08-21T22:07:00","modified_gmt":"2009-08-21T19:07:00","slug":"the-200-best-songs-of-the-2000s","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/?p=1743556","title":{"rendered":"The 200 Best Songs of the 2000s"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Lists & Guides<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The 200 Best Songs of the 2000s<\/h1>\n
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The best tracks of the decade that changed everything for radio, the underground, and your iPod<\/div>\n
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By <\/span>Pitchfork<\/span><\/span><\/span><\/div>\n

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Remember when everyone was partying like it was 1999 because it was, in fact, 1999? That was 10 years ago. Yes, the first decade of the 21st century– “The Aughts”– is coming to a close, and for music fanatics such as ourselves, that means it’s a good time to make some lists. We round up our favorite albums, tracks, and videos at the end of every year, of course, but once in a while we go all-out and tackle an entire decade– The 200 Greatest Songs of the 1960s, the Top 100 Albums of the 1990s, and so on. Since Pitchfork has been around for all of the 2000s, we’re taking the opportunity to put together a detailed and wide-ranging story– as told in four lists, four essays, and a timeline of events– of what happened in music in the last 10 years. About what you’d get from a print magazine, but it’s free and you won’t throw it out the next time you move.<\/p>\n

Our list has 500 songs, but only 200 to 1 have written briefs; read to the end to see numbers 201-500.<\/p>\n

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200.<\/div>\n

Beck: \u201cLost Cause\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

The sad-sack, lost-love mumble of Sea Change<\/em> is so thoroughly down<\/em>, it\u2019s hard to imagine it producing a single. But Beck managed to inject his stoic sorrow into a few catchy tunes, \u201cLost Cause\u201d being the catchiest. Kind of the emotional inverse of \u201cLoser\u201d, it marries lyrical futility to an achingly circular melody, which goes up and down like stairs in an M.C. Escher drawing. The rest of Sea Change<\/em> may be more hypnotic in its resigned sorrow, but \u201cLost Cause\u201d, like the best mope-anthems, makes you nod along to sentiments that would otherwise have you hanging your head. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Beck: \u201cLost Cause\u201d<\/p>\n

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199.<\/div>\n

Portishead: \u201cThe Rip\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

Perhaps the comeback of the decade. Portishead returned in 2008 and the space they\u2019d carved out was somehow more removed and vacant than the phantom, fractured jazz and blues clubs suggested on their two previous records. That pulsing tone that opens the track could have been some dying transmission from one of Dummy<\/em>\u2019s analog synthesizers, yet the arpeggios that underpin the back half of the track sounded achingly contemporary. And threading a line between the 1990s and now was that voice, reminding us that nobody can spread multi-syllabic words of woe across bars of music quite like Beth Gibbons. \u2013Matthew Solarski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Portishead:\u00a0\u201cThe Rip\u201d<\/p>\n

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198.<\/div>\n

Vitalic: \u201cLa Rock 01\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Before Justice and Daft Punk lit their megawatt crosses and pyramids in the name of all things distorted and danceable, there was Pascal Arbez aka Vitalic and his arena-ready take on four-down party spiking. Seemingly going for as many head bangs as hip flips, \u201cLa Rock 01\u201d takes a pugilist\u2019s mentality when it comes to dancefloor takeover– put up a fight or get knocked out. Arbez pulled off the industrial-tinged techno attack a full four years before his famous French countrymen famously mangled their groove with 2005\u2019s fuzzed-to-oblivion Human After All<\/em>, and \u201cLa Rock 01\u201d in particular sounds like the top of a blog-house family tree that\u2019s still splitting bandwidth on a daily basis. And Arbez makes the machines work for him, whether they\u2019re buzzing like bees on speedballs or causing EQ meters to snap into a billion pieces thanks to a what sounds like a demonic copy machine\u2019s futuristic head-rush chomp. The 1990s promised a electro takeover of all things rock– it didn\u2019t happen. But Vitalic begins the decade by riding lightning as hard and fast as any musclebound fist-pumper– and priming the formula that would eventually give rise to megawatt crosses and pyramids around the world. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Vitalic: \u201cLa Rock 01\u201d<\/p>\n

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197.<\/div>\n

Joanna Newsom: \u201cPeach, Plum, Pear\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Get past That Voice, and that harpsichord, and all the quirks that make Joanna Newsom either catnip or poison to her admirers and detractors, and what you find here is one hell of a composition. The odd chord progression stays precisely the same for the entire song, but the melody \u201cchanges some,\u201d in Newsom\u2019s phrase. So does the tenor of its lyric, from the ooze and floozies and alliteration of its first few verses to the manic, bolting horse and internal assonance (and therefore suggestion of \u201cwhores\u201d) in the last few. None of that is obvious at first, but all of it works in the service of the song\u2019s needle-sharp emotional sting. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Joanna Newsom: \u201cPeach, Plum, Pear\u201d<\/p>\n

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196.<\/div>\n

No Age: \u201cTeen Creeps\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s tempting to hear \u201cTeen Creeps\u201d as a rant against No Age\u2019s home, scene-defining L.A. venue the Smell. \u201cI hate this place,\u201d moans drummer Dean Spunt over guitarist Randy Randall\u2019s gravity-pulled riffs. But the rallying, march-like feel of the track suggests that when Spunt insists, \u201cI won\u2019t end up like them at all,\u201d he\u2019s not pointing at his musical brethren, but scene come-latelys that \u201cwash away what we create.\u201d Or maybe the song isn\u2019t that literal\u2013 certainly the music\u2019s hazy hooks stand up to multiple interpretations. That\u2019s the potency of No Age\u2019s rough minimalism: it could mean almost anything, except nothing at all. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> No Age: \u201cTeen Creeps\u201d<\/p>\n

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195.<\/div>\n

Love Is All: \u201cMake Out Fall Out Make Up\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Love Is All may specialize in songs that sound sharp and jagged, but their best single is more like a series of rounded upward curves, building up and crashing down like tidal waves confined to a kiddie pool. While the verses in \u201cMake Out Fall Out Make Up\u201d throb like a hangover headache, the choruses blare to the point of nearly collapsing into atonal cacophony, with Josephine Olausson\u2019s trebly yelping rising above the din to absolutely nail the tune\u2019s feeling of overwhelming romantic anxiety. \u2013Matthew Perpetua<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Love Is All: \u201cMake Out Fall Out Make Up\u201d<\/p>\n

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194.<\/div>\n

David Banner: \u201cCadillac on 22\u2019s\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

This is what I figured a brilliant Kid Rock ballad could sound like: Big plastic beats, folksy steel-string guitar, and devotional verses about the heart of the streets. But Kid Rock was a clown and David Banner just turned out to be confused\u2013 a guy who earned his savings shouting about pussy and pimpin\u2019 but privately ground his teeth over whether raps about pussy and pimpin\u2019 were really what his community needed. His most detached lyric\u2013 \u201cMy folks still dumping, my music bumping but I feel nothing\u201d\u2013 is also his most engaged. \u201cRecord companies don\u2019t give a fuck about \u2019Cadillac on 22\u2019s,\u2019\u201d he told Pitchfork\u2019s Tom Breihan in a Village Voice<\/em> interview. Sadly, it figures. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> David Banner: \u201cCadillac on 22\u2019s\u201d<\/p>\n

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193.<\/div>\n

Twista: \u201cSlow Jamz\u201d [ft. Kanye West and Jamie Foxx] (2004)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s easy to forget these days, but Kanye West\u2013 self-serious megastar with a laser-light show and an androgynous girlfriend\u2013 was once funny as hell: The two-liner here about Michael Jackson is a great, simple gag, made even better by Kanye\u2019s barely suppressed giggle. The concept of \u201cSlow Jamz\u201d, it being a slow jam about slow jams that namedrops slow jams, could have been a groaner, but young Kanye\u2019s easy charm saves it, and the lite-jungle breakbeat and Twista\u2019s hyperlogia saves the song from just being Jamie Foxx\u2019s karaoke homage. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Twista: \u201cSlow Jamz\u201d [ft. Kanye West and Jamie Foxx]<\/p>\n

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192.<\/div>\n

Pulp: \u201cSunrise\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

There were two fitting epitaphs to Pulp. The first is the \u201cBad Cover Version\u201d video, a charity song send-up with celebrity musician look-alikes paying tribute to Pulp\u2019s musical legacy; the other\u2013 \u201cSunrise\u201d, the final song on the group\u2019s We Love Life<\/em> album\u2013 wasn\u2019t so celebratory. After spending 20 years chasing fame, Pulp\u2019s Jarvis Cocker realized it didn\u2019t suit him much, releasing first the 1997 hangover LP This Is Hardcore<\/em> and then the more introspective and conflicted Life<\/em>. \u201cAll my achievements…range from pathetic to piss-poor,\u201d Cocker claims before celebrating the titular sunrise of early semi-retirement. The band itself didn\u2019t seem to want to go as patiently into that good night, closing the song with three minutes of its most ferocious work, a snarling, climatic build and a fitting send-off for one of the more creative acts of our time. \u2013Scott Plagenhoef<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Pulp: \u201cSunrise\u201d<\/p>\n

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191.<\/div>\n

Vampire Weekend: \u201cOxford Comma\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

There\u2019s plenty about \u201cOxford Comma\u201d that screams \u201cKitsch!\u201d: that Lil Jon shoutout, the fact that Vampire Weekend, already with a reputation for overbearing bookishness, wrote a song ostensibly about grammar. But \u201cOxford Comma\u201d is compositionally brilliant; clocking in at 3:15, it\u2019s a microcosm of momentum-building, beginning with a slow thudding beat before, in short order, ramping to its double-chorus finale, resplendent and victorious without ever being angry or loud or fast. Montessori, finishing school, whatever it took: \u201cOxford Comma\u201d is well-mannered punk rock. \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Vampire Weekend: \u201cOxford Comma\u201d<\/p>\n

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190.<\/div>\n

Panjabi MC: \u201cMundian to Bach K\u00e9 (Beware of the Boys)\u201d [ft. Jay-Z] (2003)<\/h2>\n

Bhangra never blew up in the U.S. the way dancehall or reggaeton did, but its one shot says something about the ridiculous zone Jay-Z was in for the decade\u2019s first few years. Before Jay got ahold of it, \u201cMundian to Bach K\u00e9\u201d was a geography-crushing global smash. Jay might not have understood a word of the original, but he heard a dope beat (that \u201cKnight Rider\u201d theme was always meant to destroy dancefloors) and an opportunity to flex regal. And Jay just tore this thing apart, protesting the Iraq war before it was cool and calling himself the black Brad Pitt, taking one of ya chicks straight from under ya armpit\u2013 which is always<\/em> cool. Some days, globalization feels like a good<\/em> thing. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Panjabi MC: \u201cMundian to Bach K\u00e9 (Beware of the Boys)\u201d [ft. Jay-Z]<\/p>\n

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189.<\/div>\n

The Tough Alliance: \u201cSilly Crimes\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Among indie dudes, \u201cpure pop\u201d used to mean \u201c1960s-style pop.\u201d Jangling guitars were a must\u2013 nothing too spicy, please. Well, the King of Pop is dead. Was that what he sounded like? How about the sound of global pop culture circa 2009? From heartfelt (OK, gloriously flawed) singing to running a collector\u2019s-mentality record label, the Tough Alliance are way more indie than they\u2019d probably like to admit. But they\u2019ve seldom sounded more purely pop than on \u201cSilly Crimes\u201d, the flagship track from their maiden EP as label owners. Bass-heavy dance beats, sweetly yearning hooks, neon synths, utopian strings, and tropical sound effects\u2013 it\u2019s New Waves<\/em>, not \u201cnew wave.\u201d And as frivolous delinquency goes, it\u2019s pretty near a perfect crime. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Tough Alliance: \u201cSilly Crimes\u201d<\/p>\n

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188.<\/div>\n

Jens Lekman: \u201cBlack Cab\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Oh, you\u2019re so self-conscious, Jens. With a \u201cThere She Goes\u201d bounce in his step, Lekman wittily wallows in the guilt of ruining someone else\u2019s good time. Now, all he wants to do is get home and sleep in his own bed, but the poor guy\u2019s missed the last train. So he straps on a harpsichord borrowed from the Left Banke and some violins and casts his lot with the disreputable drivers of the black cabs, singing, \u201cThey might be psycho killers but tonight I really don\u2019t care.\u201d If Lekman\u2019s bad nights out beget songs like this, I hope he never improves his social aptitude \u2013Joe Tangari<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jens Lekman: \u201cBlack Cab\u201d<\/p>\n

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187.<\/div>\n

Booka Shade: \u201cMandarine Girl\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

In 2005, dancefloors were awash in the anthems of what would briefly be known as \u201celectro-house\u201d\u2013 big, bold things with a beefed-up midrange as colorful and lovingly sculpted as the neon trim of an import tuner. Booka Shade claimed two of them, the Ibiza favorite \u201cBody Language\u201d and the more driving \u201cMandarine Girl\u201d. Flush with rubbery riffs and sparkling counterpoints, the latter is essentially trance with swing, its syncopated refrain cycling upwards as fat, tubular synthesizers puff like smokestacks. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Booka Shade: \u201cMandarine Girl\u201d<\/p>\n

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186.<\/div>\n

Fugazi: \u201cCashout\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Gentrification and real estate greed were not necessarily hot topics for rock bands to tackle in early 2001, but then Fugazi always have stayed ahead of the curve. Years prior to the final build-up and burst of the housing bubble, Ian MacKaye and company used \u201cCashout\u201d to forcefully question the motives of real estate developers and the local governments who cater to them. In the process MacKaye delivers one of his most nuanced vocal performances, while the rest of the group matches his every lithe stride with characteristic economy of movement and an innate sense for genuine community action. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Fugazi: \u201cCashout\u201d<\/p>\n

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185.<\/div>\n

Dead Prez: \u201cHip-Hop\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

In 2000, Dead Prez were the rare NYC group who recognized Southern rap\u2019s subwoofer-heavy ascension as an opportunity, not a threat. The gargling-demon bassline on \u201cHip-Hop\u201d kicked as hard as anything Mannie Fresh made that summer. And MCs M1 and Stic.Man used its buzzing urgency as a jumping-off point, slamming through righteous, fiery self-policing sermonism so woolly and ferocious that their preaching didn\u2019t resonate as preaching<\/em>. When Stic.Man pledged to run up on them crackers in they City Hall, you believed him. But at the end, when they broke away from all the fury to chant about how dope they were, you believed that<\/em>, too. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dead Prez: \u201cHip-Hop\u201d<\/p>\n

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184.<\/div>\n

Queens of the Stone Age: \u201cNo One Knows\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

This powerful slab of punch-drunk boogie rock stands as the most visible piece of QOTSA\u2019s legacy, and not just because it topped the Modern Rock charts. A lot of its indelibility comes from the rhythmic swagger that arose from the combination of Josh Homme\u2019s loping guitar riff, Nick Oliveri\u2019s charging oompah-bass, and frequent ringer Dave Grohl\u2019s memorably tourniquet-tight performance behind the kit. But there\u2019s a sour, mournfully anxious mood under all that force, and the song stands as a bitter counterpoint to the manic pharmaceutical inventory of their previous single, \u201cFeel Good Hit of the Summer\u201d: \u201cWe get these pills to swallow\/ How they stick in your throat\u201d. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Queens of the Stone Age: \u201cNo One Knows\u201d<\/p>\n

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183.<\/div>\n

Beyonc\u00e9: \u201cIrreplaceable\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Seriously: What kind of numbskull would cheat on Beyonc\u00e9? She\u2019s crazy, she\u2019s ringing alarms, and\u2013 most important\u2013 she\u2019s Beyonc\u00e9, almighty one-stop entertainer beamed down from Planet Perfection. But \u201cIrreplaceable\u201d is all about the revelation that there\u2019s some unscripted emotion underneath all those hypnotic sequins. She puts on a good front: \u201cYou must not know \u2019bout me, I could have another you in a minute,\u201d she sings, hand on hip. But the cracked delivery of \u201canother you\u201d gives her away\u2013 she sounds vulnerable, crushed, human. By the end of the song, the \u201canother you\u201ds are more strident as she turns back into the high-heeled superhero with invisible pores and quite-visible hips. But even when she loses, she wins. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Beyonc\u00e9: \u201cIrreplaceable\u201d<\/p>\n

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182.<\/div>\n

Yo La Tengo: \u201cOur Way to Fall\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

The English language suggests \u201cfalling in love\u201d and \u201cbeing in love\u201d are two totally separate states. Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley have been falling in love with each other long enough to know better. The wisdom of shared experience informs this song\u2019s still-fluttery reminiscences on new romance, presented with the refined brushstrokes and humble restraint of indie rock Zen masters. It\u2019s the little things you remember: what music you heard, gestures you noticed, what she was wearing around her neck and the day it fell to pieces behind the dresser. And it\u2019s the little things Yo La Tengo get right with \u201cOur Way to Fall\u201d, an intimate anytime wedding march as post-Talk Talk tone poem. I remember the way it sounded walking down the aisle. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yo La Tengo: \u201cOur Way to Fall\u201d<\/p>\n

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181.<\/div>\n

Morrissey: \u201cThe First of the Gang to Die\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Morrissey\u2019s doomed romantic persona is the perfect vehicle for this update of American gangster mythology, which moves the action from the fedoras, Tommy guns, and speakeasies of 1930s Chicago and New York to the modern mean streets of L.A. His snuffed gangster, Hector, is no angel\u2013 he steals \u201cfrom the rich and the poor and the not very rich and the very poor,\u201d and steals our hearts as well. Morrissey\u2019s grand musical backdrop and emotional distance allow him to croon his way to Hector\u2019s complex inner nobility, and the result is a sensitive anthem for a tough, tough guy. \u2013Joe Tangari<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Morrissey: \u201cThe First of the Gang to Die\u201d<\/p>\n

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180.<\/div>\n

Gwen Stefani: \u201cHollaback Girl\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

\u201cHollaback Girl\u201d proved divisive with critics, with this publication decrying it as second-rate Queen, but this list\u2019s voters evidently have latched on to Gwen\u2019s feminine sport anthem. Stefani actually wrote \u201cHollaback Girl\u201d with producer Pharrell Williams in reaction to a derogatory statement made by Courtney Love labeling Stefani a cheerleader. From the outset, it\u2019s pretty obvious that Stefani is<\/em> a cheerleader, and a damn good one. The cut\u2019s Spartan beat proved wildly successful in the club, with Stefani\u2019s invocations leading legions of ladies (and dudes) in an empowering urban shout-along. \u2013Mike Orme<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Gwen Stefani: \u201cHollaback Girl\u201d<\/p>\n

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179.<\/div>\n

Bon Iver: \u201cSkinny Love\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

People make too much of the cabin thing. Yes, Justin Vernon got his heart broken, hightailed it to the woods, donned some flannel, and emerged with some truly lovely music; it\u2019s a story roughly as romantic as the records he makes. What makes \u201cSkinny Love\u201d so resonant isn\u2019t just the wounded quality in Vernon\u2019s unadorned voice or the easily identifiable chill carried by the track\u2019s slight echo; it\u2019s the fact that we can all imagine holing up while wounded and attempting to make something beautiful while making some sense of it. The only difference is, this guy actually did it. \u2013Paul Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Bon Iver: \u201cSkinny Love\u201d<\/p>\n

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178.<\/div>\n

Air: \u201cCherry Blossom Girl\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

A successful marriage of the alien and the sensual is a tricky thing to pull off (check the Svedka she-bot for an example of how this can go horribly, horribly awry), but Air nailed it with this assemblage of FutureSex LoveSounds for the retro-futurist set. The lyrics may be all innocent infatuation, but the music tells a very different story. It\u2019s hard to say which is more seductive: those gentle organic strums, the sci-fi synths, the Kenny G shit, or the way sensuous sounds past and present all come together in glorious communion here. File this one under \u201cpomo-erotic\u201d. \u2013Matthew Solarski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Air: \u201cCherry Blossom Girl\u201d<\/p>\n

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Aftermath \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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177.<\/div>\n

Eminem: \u201cThe Real Slim Shady\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

As a self-styled controversy-courting public enemy number one, Eminem knew people would be listening closely when he dropped his second album The Marshall Mathers LP<\/em>. Needless to say, \u201cThe Real Slim Shady\u201d, its pop-culture-puncturing first single, went out of its way to chum the waters, and did so with such malicious glee that its instantly dated time-capsule lyrics hardly matter. \u201cMay I have your attention please?\u201d asks Eminem politely at the song\u2019s start, but he needn\u2019t have bothered. He knows he\u2019s got it long before he even hits that undeniably anthemic chorus. \u2013Joshua Klein<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Eminem: \u201cThe Real Slim Shady\u201d<\/p>\n

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176.<\/div>\n

Xiu Xiu: \u201cI Luv the Valley OH!\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

A good Xiu Xiu song is like someone vividly describing his pain. A great Xiu Xiu song is like someone actually hurting himself<\/em>, right in front of you. This isn\u2019t their most violent effort, but it\u2019s their most scouring; a place where mortar-round drums pound down on rolling bass and chiming guitars, unsubtly conveying the painful insight that some dreams have to be razed, not realized. But the killshot is Jamie Stewart\u2019s plugged-in vocal performance. Couched in his family mythology, it\u2019s both pining and excoriating, his fatal cries pluming out like red mist. It sounds wrenched from a deeper place than even Stewart often goes. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Xiu Xiu: \u201cI Luv the Valley OH!\u201d<\/p>\n

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Arista<\/p>\n

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175.<\/div>\n

Usher: \u201cYeah\u201d [ft. Lil Jon and Ludacris] (2003)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s hard to remember a time when a combination of Southern crunk\u2019s trunk-rattling grit with sleek modern R&B would be considered groundbreaking. But so it was when Usher unveiled \u201cYeah\u201d in early 2004. \u201cYeah\u201d was the dirtiest-sounding thing Usher had done to date, but the real draw was Lil Jon\u2019s ferocious-but-slippery production, featuring that crazy keyboard vamp that still sounds thrilling today. It also contains fantastic moments of unintentional hilarity, with lyrics dovetailing with Dave Chappelle\u2019s loving TV mimicry of Lil Jon and the best guest-spot mispronunciation (Ludacris\u2019 \u201cUrsher\u201d) since cats were calling Kanye \u201cCain\u201d on his own records. \u2013Joe Colly<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Usher: \u201cYeah\u201d [ft. Lil Jon and Ludacris]<\/p>\n

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174.<\/div>\n

Los Campesinos!: \u201cYou! Me! Dancing!\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

A huge part of Los Campesinos!\u2019 charm lies in their comfort with\u2013and embrace of\u2013 being a bunch of nerds. And what\u2019s more nerdy than not being able to dance? How about a song celebrating not being able to dance, but dancing anyway? \u201cYou! Me! Dancing!\u201d explodes with the exuberance that comes from realizing that there\u2019s no shame in being uncool, and no shame in doing uncool things like obsessing over long-lost indie heroes like Bis or throwing violin, glockenspiel, and girl-boy shouting over a tinny approximation of a classic rock riff. Fittingly, this track first drew attention via an uncool forum full of nerds: MySpace. \u2013Amy Phillips<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Los Campesinos!: \u201cYou! Me! Dancing!\u201d<\/p>\n

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Loud \/ Epic<\/p>\n

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173.<\/div>\n

M.O.P.: \u201cAnte Up\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Fact: Did you know that every time you play \u201cAnte Up\u201d, M.O.P.\u2019s collaboration with LFO ceases to exist for exactly 4:09 seconds? It\u2019s true; with every unhinged shout of \u201cYAP THAT FOOL!\u201d it becomes increasingly impossible that M.O.P.\u2019s Billy Danze and Lil Fame ever worked with the \u201cChinese food makes me sick\u201d dudes. It\u2019s just that potent\u2013 the purest distillation of the sort of gun-blazing roughneck shit that M.O.P. have been slinging with wild-eyed, suicide-bomber conviction ever since 1993\u2019s \u201cHow About Some Hardcore?\u201d The Mash Out Posse do one thing, over and over again, and they do it incredibly well, and if there\u2019s any confusion over what that thing is, then perhaps you are simply unclear on the meaning of either the words \u201cmash\u201d or \u201cout,\u201d or what they mean when put together. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> M.O.P.: \u201cAnte Up\u201d<\/p>\n

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172.<\/div>\n

Shellac: \u201cPrayer to God\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s not easy to find nuance in hate. Sounding like a country death ballad banged out by factory machinery, \u201cPrayer to God\u201d is a double-death wish with revealing specificity. The setup is simple enough: There are two people<\/p>\n

here, and the narrator wants God to kill them. Over clamoring chords and the dead-air breaks in between, any other information comes slowly, and the same goes for the blustering climax and teeth-gritting tension from the lyrics\u2019 repetition\u2013 all to be deflated by its grim punchline: the most disarming \u201camen\u201d put to tape. \u2013Jason Crock<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Shellac: \u201cPrayer to God\u201d<\/p>\n

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Rawkus<\/p>\n

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171.<\/div>\n

Talib Kweli: \u201cGet By (Remix)\u201d [ft. Mos Def, Jay Z, Kanye West, and Busta Rhymes] (2003)<\/h2>\n

Before he claimed he\u2019d rhyme like Talib Kweli if lyrics sold, Jay-Z appeared on a remix of Talib\u2019s hit single and did just that in a way that made his desperate struggles sound suave. Before his outsized lyrical personality was as famous as his production chops, Kanye West augmented his masterful Nina Simone-derived piano-hook beat with his first truly great turn on the mic. Before both of their verses, Mos Def opened with what\u2019d be his most impassioned performance for years to come. Before the stirring gospel coda, Busta tore shit up. And before I forget: Kweli\u2019s the beating heart at the center of a legendary posse cut. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Talib Kweli: \u201cGet By (Remix)\u201d [ft. Mos Def, Jay Z, Kanye West, and Busta Rhymes]<\/p>\n

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Fantastic Plastic \/ Polydor<\/p>\n

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170.<\/div>\n

Guillemots: \u201cTrains to Brazil\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

All swing drums, horn crescendos, and vocal gallantry, \u201cTrains to Brazil\u201d was the Guillemots\u2019 first single and the most stirring encapsulation of the unabashed romanticism of their Through the Cliffs<\/em> EP and debut full-length, Through the Windowpane.<\/em> Singer Fyfe Dangerfield turns his eye toward the seemingly intractable conflicts of society: the title refers to Jean Charles de Menezes, who was killed after he was mistaken for a suicide bomber in the aftermath of the London train bombings. But being the obvious idealist that he is, Fyfe concludes, with a largely jazz-trained backing band playing ADD R&B behind him, that we\u2019re all lucky to be alive. \u2013Mike Orme<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Guillemots: \u201cTrains to Brazil\u201d<\/p>\n

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Def Jam South<\/p>\n

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169.<\/div>\n

Ludacris: \u201cSouthern Hospitality\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

The early Ludacris singles remain the best because they had one quality much of his later music lacks: subtlety. There\u2019s a stark menace to \u201cSouthern Hospitality\u201d that makes his punchlines land harder because he\u2019s not overwhelming the music by selling every line as a stand-up\u2019s money shot. An early example of the already miserly Neptunes at their most restrained, the whistling synths are about the only thing coloring the clonk-and-clap drum pattern; it\u2019s stand-out minimalism perfect for a performance with more honest, laconic menace than the rapper would later allow himself. Plus it brought a hip-hop catchphrase to Middle America on the back of something other than a shitty dance-craze record, no mean feat. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ludacris: \u201cSouthern Hospitality\u201d<\/p>\n

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168.<\/div>\n

Of Montreal: \u201cThe Past Is a Grotesque Animal\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

After establishing his mission in the very first line of Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?\u2013<\/em> \u201cWe just want to emote \u2019til we\u2019re dead\u201d\u2013 Kevin Barnes tries his damndest to fulfill it on the record\u2019s 12-minute centerpiece. And for Of Montreal, the past almost seemed like a set-up to blindside listeners with this song. For a band that built its following on \u201cSesame Street\u201d psychedelia that sounded like eating a box of acid-laced crayons, \u201cGrotesque Animal\u201d is a jarring detour, a prowling, evil drone-rant that eschews Barnes\u2019 usual sugar-high hooks for a diary-reading travelogue of love gained and lost, culminating, inevitably, in screaming sheets of Casio catharsis. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Of Montreal: \u201cThe Past Is a Grotesque Animal\u201d<\/p>\n

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167.<\/div>\n

Liars: \u201cThe Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

The Hollywood ending of Liars\u2019 most essential album, \u201cThe Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack\u201d climbs from Drum\u2019s Not Dead<\/em>\u2019s summit of rhythm, tension, and dissonance into a valley of easy harmonies splayed over chiming guitars. This woozy love song takes its time finding contentment, too, with a beat that sits still and vocals that promise to stretch on forever. In its own angular, art-rock way, \u201cThe Other Side\u201d presaged the slow-song, group-vocals that bands like Fleet Foxes and Grizzly Bear turned into tour buses. \u2013Grayson Currin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Liars: \u201cThe Other Side of Mt. Heart Attack\u201d<\/p>\n

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166.<\/div>\n

Gui Boratto: \u201cBeautiful Life\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

Brazil\u2019s not particularly known for its techno, but then Gui Boratto isn\u2019t your average techno producer. Armed with a background in radio jingles and engineering credits for the likes of Garth Brooks and Des\u2019ree, Boratto dropped in Chromophobia<\/em> one of 2007\u2019s most intricately mapped techno expeditions. Most of the record consisted of haunting, wordless sequencer games, but it\u2019s \u201cBeautiful Life\u201d, an eight-minute slab of lo-fi vocal trance-pop, that many listeners remember. Sleepy vocals recorded by Luciana Villanova, who also happens to be married to Boratto, top out the New Order tribute without diminishing the impact of Gui\u2019s techno swath. \u2013Mike Orme<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Gui Boratto: \u201cBeautiful Life\u201d<\/p>\n

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165.<\/div>\n

Jimmy Eat World: \u201cThe Middle\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t write yourself off yet.\u201d In the world of rock\u2019n\u2019roll, that\u2019s about as good as advice gets. But \u201cit\u2019s only in your head you feel left out, or looked down on,\u201d on the other hand, is a total lie. They really are looking down on you, and they\u2019d rather you not come along at all. But you can\u2019t let the enormity of that hit you when you\u2019re 16 (the hardest age) and in the middle of it. So it\u2019s a good kind of lie, the kind that helps you when you need it most, and J.E.W.\u2019s affirmation, then, is offered as a sort of public service to a nation of insecure teenagers. And if your band delivers that message of hope with the kind of power-pop chorus hook that gives the best couple of Weezer songs a run for their money, you\u2019ve accomplished something. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jimmy Eat World: \u201cThe Middle\u201d<\/p>\n

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164.<\/div>\n

Broadcast: \u201cCome on Let\u2019s Go\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Compared to the heady, slippery stuff Broadcast has created since The Noise Made By People<\/em>, the lava-lamped bubble-chair groove of \u201cCome On Let\u2019s Go\u201d sounds downright decadent and facile. But if this alluring combination of spy-flavored radiophonics and Trish Keenan\u2019s velvet-honey coo is easy, then I don\u2019t want to know from difficult. \u2013David Raposa<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Broadcast: \u201cCome on Let\u2019s Go\u201d<\/p>\n

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163.<\/div>\n

Girl Talk: \u201cSmash Your Head\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

The first half of \u201cSmash Your Head\u201d is just a well-executed mash-up, blending Clipse with Fall Out Boy and Nirvana with Young Jeezy and making them sound like they could all have some fun together. But then comes Elton John\u2019s sped-up \u201cTiny Dancer\u201d piano, and right behind it, Biggie. The collision opens up a new world for each song, making Elton\u2019s piano trills sound like the perfect backing to any story told with heart, and the words that much more poignant. And as Biggie talks above all about a love of music, what that can mean to a kid, and shows how that can be carried into adulthood, he unwittingly sums up Girl Talk\u2019s entire M.O. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Girl Talk: \u201cSmash Your Head\u201d<\/p>\n

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162.<\/div>\n

Grizzly Bear: \u201cTwo Weeks\u201d (2009)<\/h2>\n

Sunny and psychedelic, sure, but far from trapped in its own 1960s echo chamber, Grizzly Bear\u2019s sweet \u201cTwo Weeks\u201d is as welcomingly open as it is sneakily weird. While the band\u2019s celestial \u201coohs\u201d and \u201cahhs\u201d soar, the song itself is driven and underpinned by soft piano plinking, shimmering but subtle sonic accoutrements, and a booming beat that\u2019s more song-of-the-summer than inward indie. The track could probably go on forever but instead ends abruptly, which is perhaps the only way it really could end: flying so high above it all, there\u2019s simply nowhere left for it to go. \u2013Joshua Klein<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Grizzly Bear: \u201cTwo Weeks\u201d<\/p>\n

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Data \/ Bonnier Music<\/p>\n

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161.<\/div>\n

Christian Falk: \u201cDream On\u201d [ft. Robyn and Ola Salo] (2006)<\/h2>\n

Dance music\u2013 and the act of dancing itself\u2013 has long been as much about creating safe havens for outsiders as about crafting moveable beats. Swedish DJ Christian Falk\u2019s \u201cDream On\u201d plays up that warm inclusiveness: Robyn and the Ark\u2019s Ola Salo check IDs and stamp hands outside the a club tailormade for outsiders, offering sanctuary to pigs, snitches, thugs, lifers, freaks, junkies, and outcasts of all stripes. These may be the very same people many dancers want to get away from, but on this bubbly bit of triumphalism, Falk knows the promises of dance music are nil unless extended to every loser and locked-up intern. \u2013Stephen M. Deusner<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Christian Falk: \u201cDream On\u201d [ft. Robyn and Ola Salo]<\/p>\n

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Aftermath \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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160.<\/div>\n

50 Cent: \u201cIn Da Club\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Sorry to get all meta re: this list for a second, but this result is surely more a reflection of how absurdly hard 50\u2019s star has crashed over the past five years than any real comment on the song\u2019s quality, right? Because seriously: There are probably only a handful of grooves in recent hip-hop as remotely as instantaneous or as happy-making as these chugging chords, and I feel like in 2003, we all understood this a bit better. What else to say\u2013 the lyrics are standard-issue party jam bulletproof braggadocio that squarely lay out the terms: 50 doesn\u2019t make love but he still wants to be<\/em> loved. Other questions: Was this awesome because 50 doesn\u2019t sing in the chorus? Do you think he\u2019s still happy to sell like Eminem? \u2013Mark Pytlik<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> 50 Cent: \u201cIn Da Club\u201d<\/p>\n

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159.<\/div>\n

Cat Power: \u201cI Don\u2019t Blame You\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

In retrospect, it can be easy to view Cat Power\u2019s 2003 album You Are Free<\/em> as a transitional work, one that marks the closing of a musical chapter for Chan Marshall. On the album opening \u201cI Don\u2019t Blame You\u201d, this desire for artistic liberation is at once literal in Marshall\u2019s lyrics and palpable in her performance. Backed only by a solo piano, Marshall\u2019s voice brims with sympathy as she witnesses a musician tormented by audience expectation, a portrait that bears close resemblance to her earlier onstage self. Yet the song is also tempered by a certain measured distance, a sense of quiet acceptance that mirrors Cat Power\u2019s eventual musical evolution away from such harrowing, introspective bloodletting. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Cat Power: \u201cI Don\u2019t Blame You\u201d<\/p>\n

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Rough Trade<\/p>\n

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158.<\/div>\n

Art Brut: \u201cFormed a Band\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

I\u2019m sure I wasn\u2019t the only disappointed one in the room when, one night earlier this summer, Art Brut left \u201cFormed a Band\u201d off their setlist. But I get it, I do. An origin story this powerful can eclipse a band\u2019s subsequent work\u2013 even a band of such overwhelming personality and aggressive rock\u2019n\u2019roll theater. Along with sharp-sticked campaigns to call bullshit on the industry and their peers, Art Brut have committed their career to unpacking \u201cFormed\u201d and selling the joys of forming your own (even if, like Eddie Argos, your singing voice is more drunken harangue than golden croon). So maybe we don\u2019t need the three-minute digest version of their career at every show. Actually, maybe we still do. \u2013Amy Granzin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Art Brut: \u201cFormed a Band\u201d<\/p>\n

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157.<\/div>\n

Kanye West: \u201cTouch the Sky\u201d [ft. Lupe Fiasco] (2005)<\/h2>\n

In maybe his last public act before dying, Evel Knievel sued Kanye for jacking his style in the \u201cTouch the Sky\u201d video. He should\u2019ve thanked Kanye for celebrating his goofy-ass legacy. If Knievel didn\u2019t want to see pop\u2019s most dizzily egocentric figure trying on his star-spangled jumpsuit, he should\u2019ve listened a little closer. In some ways, \u201cTouch the Sky\u201d is Kanye at his humblest: Detailing his struggles and failures before exploding into that glorious chorus, outsourcing the beat to fellow Roc-A-Fella house producer Just Blaze because nobody could\u2019ve flipped that Curtis Mayfield sample harder. And when a then-unknown Lupe slickly ducked and weaved through that guest verse, another star was born. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kanye West: \u201cTouch the Sky\u201d [ft. Lupe Fiasco]<\/p>\n

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156.<\/div>\n

The Pipettes: \u201cPull Shapes\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

No offense to the lovely brassy ladies of the Pipettes and the shapes they themselves pull with aplomb, but they\u2019re just the cherry on top of this symphonic sundae. Those gorgeous soaring strings, with center stage all to themselves for the track\u2019s first 30 seconds, are the song\u2019s turbo-charged engine. It\u2019s all listeners, and even the Pipettes, can do to hold on and enjoy the ride. \u2013David Raposa<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Pipettes: \u201cPull Shapes\u201d<\/p>\n

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155.<\/div>\n

Coldplay: \u201cClocks\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Are they a part of the cure or a part of the disease? Well, Coldplay spent the decade securing next-U2 status by swiping Radiohead\u2019s falsettoed grandiosity and stripping it down to a deliriously unthreatening rise-and-swoop formula. So check on in the \u201cdisease\u201d column, I guess. But Chris Martin is the rare singer who can write lyrics that mean nothing and sell them like they mean everything, pushing his angelic wail over the glorious tumbling pianos and locked-in cymbal crashes of \u201cClocks\u201d like Icarus trying to see how far he could push this whole flying thing. \u201cClocks\u201d is MOR arena-pop done as well as MOR arena-pop can possibly be done. And nothing else compares. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Coldplay: \u201cClocks\u201d<\/p>\n

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Asthmatic Kitty<\/p>\n

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154.<\/div>\n

Sufjan Stevens: \u201cCasimir Pulaski Day\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Somewhere between his five-volume Christmas album (surprisingly pretty, by the way) and his conceptual work about the BQE Expressway at the Brooklyn Academy of Music (hula hoops, angel wings, and enormous projections of blow-up gorillas played key roles) it started becoming a little more difficult to recall the simple pleasures of Sufjan\u2019s keenly observed folk-pop. Now that his swelling string sections are permanent parts of the indie DNA it\u2019s hard to remember just how fresh-sounding it all was, and how inviting his loose, communal approach to music-making felt, especially when contrasted with his grandiose, 50-ALBUMS-FOR-50-STATES! ambitions. But \u201cCasimir Pulaski Day\u201d, the modest follow-up to \u201cChicago\u201d, still retains its campfire glow: a softly plonking banjo and guitar, some muted horns, and Sufjan\u2019s gimlet storyteller\u2019s eye. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sufjan Stevens: \u201cCasimir Pulaski Day\u201d<\/p>\n

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Force Tracks<\/p>\n

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153.<\/div>\n

Luomo: \u201cTessio\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

\u201cMicrohouse,\u201d or house under a microscope? Luomo\u2019s early work honed in on house\u2019s fleshy expanses to reveal a secret world of riotous molecular activity, strewn with dub echo and whispering clicks and snaps. \u201cTessio\u201d is his most romantic epic, its hesitant build into a voluptuous house groove mirroring the journey of its enigmatic singers from uncertainty to sheltering comfort\u2013 \u201cBaby, it\u2019s okay,\u201d they murmur finally, like these simple words could heal a thousand scars of past disappointments. The lingering resonance of \u201cTessio\u201d as a house anthem full stop confirms that the biology of seduction is unleashed not in a laboratory, but on dancefloors every night. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Luomo: \u201cTessio\u201d<\/p>\n

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152.<\/div>\n

Life Without Buildings: \u201cThe Leanover\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s beautiful for many reasons\u2013 Robert Johnston\u2019s lyrical guitar work and Sue Tompkins\u2019 genius-baby sing-speak embody pure delight. But mostly, it\u2019s beautiful because it feels like the stuff of spontaneous inspiration, the splatter-paint syllables falling into unrepeatable patterns. Remarkably, this is an illusion, as the faithful version captured on Live at the Annandale Hotel<\/em> attests. The dense wordplay and Rorschach-blot diction make the hundredth listen feel almost as fresh as the first (in 2009, for instance, opening line \u201cIf I lose you\u201d sounds an awful lot like \u201cFallujah\u201d). But the emotional baseline, bursting with love and quavering with doubt, remains satisfyingly constant \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Life Without Buildings: \u201cThe Leanover\u201d<\/p>\n

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151.<\/div>\n

Santigold: \u201cL.E.S. Artistes\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

On the face of things, Santi White (aka Santogold, now Santigold) would not seem like a person who lacks confidence. Yet there is an undercurrent of self-doubt that ripples through her 2008 breakout single \u201cL.E.S. Artistes\u201d, providing crucial emotional ballast to her buoyant and acerbic songcraft. Though the song takes aim at the poseurs she might see lurking around her Lower East Side neighborhood, lines like \u201cWhat am I here for?\u201d and \u201cI hope it will be worth what I give up\u201d reflect someone not afraid of turning the same critical eye towards herself, glancing back at avenues not taken while still maintaining her self-assured swagger. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Santigold: \u201cL.E.S. Artistes\u201d<\/p>\n

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150.<\/div>\n

Junior Senior: \u201cMove Your Feet\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Thank you, internet! How else would we have found Junior Senior, a gay\/straight Danish duo crafting dance parties from whatever genre ingredients were within arm\u2019s reach. \u201cMove Your Feet\u201d caught the online jet stream, helped no doubt by its 8-bit evil squirrel and talking hot dog video (thanks again, internet!), but also through skilled deployment of roller-rink dance-hit staples: bad rapping, funk guitar, bells, humanism-through-dance. Its timing was exquisite, not just for distribution purposes, but for hitting American indie ears just as their dance music allergies were fading and meet-you-halfway disco-punk was leaving newly-founded indie dance parties unsatisfied. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Junior Senior: \u201cMove Your Feet\u201d<\/p>\n

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149.<\/div>\n

Dan Deacon: \u201cThe Crystal Cat\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

What a lonely, lonely sound. Dan Deacon\u2019s shows are about the high of communal experience\u2013 about surrendering your ego to a crush of overheated strangers. But his music is solitary. Cartoons and video games might make twentysomethings flush with nostalgia, but \u201cThe Crystal Cat\u201d sounded more like Kraftwerk\u2019s cold futures cast in pixels\u2013 a sound, above all, about distance rather than closeness. Yeah, you can twist to it. Yeah, it\u2019s freaky and buzzing and loud. But when Deacon squeals through the hail of synthesizer noise and junked drum machines, he sounds like an astronaut sucked through the airlock\u2013 lost. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dan Deacon: \u201cThe Crystal Cat\u201d<\/p>\n

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148.<\/div>\n

Air France: \u201cCollapsing at Your Doorstep\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s a travel-agency ad, not a pop song\u2013 an aural scrapbook by Scandinavian youths who\u2019ve probably seen more of Barcelona through postcards than sunglasses. (We sure love music of distance, huh? Swedes dreaming of the beach; New Yorkers dreaming of the jungle; Timbaland dreaming, endlessly, of deep space.) The swishy, euro-pop pose always bugged me until I heard \u201cCollapsing at Your Doorstep\u201d. It\u2019s music driven by longing, not owning. Music that sounds urbane, but like its makers are shut-ins and cinephiles. With Air France, it\u2019s hard to tell what\u2019s sampled and what\u2019s live\u2013 in other words, which sun-soaked daydreams are actually theirs, and which we all somehow share. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Air France: \u201cCollapsing at Your Doorstep\u201d<\/p>\n

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147.<\/div>\n

Wilco: \u201cPoor Places\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

\u201cA lot of times when you\u2019re playing, if you don\u2019t have any kind of sonic landscape behind you, everything kind of turns into a folk song,\u201d explains Jay Bennett during the documentary I Am Trying to Break Your Heart<\/em> as Wilco maps out \u201cPoor Places\u201d. Indeed, on paper, this tune comprises four chords, four verses, and a chorus; on record, though, it\u2019s a Rube Goldberg contraption, with tiny parts lurking in the background only to spring the song into surprising directions. A coruscated drone becomes sedate pop becomes that folk number about which Bennett warned us becomes the most damaged minute in some dude\u2019s iTunes library: No incarnation of Wilco has since outfitted Jeff Tweedy\u2019s universal unease so boldly. \u2013Grayson Currin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Wilco: \u201cPoor Places\u201d<\/p>\n

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146.<\/div>\n

Fennesz: \u201cCaecilia\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Fennesz\u2019s Endless Summer<\/em> may have been complicated to make, but its effect is simple: sweet melodies poured into mesmerizing noise. \u201cCaecilia\u201d is the prettiest such concoction, burying lapping waves of digital grit under a languorous vibraphone hook. The pairing smoothes the former and toughens the latter until they fuse into a real song. How Fennesz fit all his blips and blurs into a song-mold remains a mystery\u2013 it sounds more like they\u2019re organizing themselves, like a flock of birds flying in a V. Many imitators since have attempted that trick, but no other digital magicians keep their secrets hidden quite like Fennesz. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Fennesz: \u201cCaecilia\u201d<\/p>\n

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145.<\/div>\n

Broken Social Scene: \u201cCause = Time\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

By the time \u201cCause = Time\u201d appears eight songs into Broken Social Scene\u2019s You Forgot It in People<\/em>, the Toronto indie-rockestra had covered much stylistic turf\u2013 from noisy garage-rock to bossa nova to orchestral folk. But it was this peak mid-album track that both consolidated the album\u2019s textural sprawl and confirmed Broken Social Scene\u2019s own transformation from ambient hobby project to powerhouse rock band. With its cryptic references to menstruation, religion, and numerology, \u201cCause\u201d isn\u2019t about political activism any more than Sonic Youth\u2019s \u201cTeen Age Riot\u201d was about tossing Molotov cocktails. But by updating classic, class-of-1988 indie rock anthemery with motorik post-rock rhythms, it served as the wake-up call for a new generation of daydream nationalists. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Broken Social Scene: \u201cCause = Time\u201d<\/p>\n

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144.<\/div>\n

Justice vs. Simian: \u201cWe Are Your Friends\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Only in Paris could something as seemingly uncool and ho-hum as a college radio remix contest birth a worldwide dancefloor sensation. Made using pretty rudimentary remixing tools, \u201cWe Are Your Friends\u201d not only won Justice some contest prize, it established them as a force to be reckoned with. The prodigal duo almost completely gutted Simian\u2019s \u201cNever Be Alone\u201d with the same audacity that would make their debut album such a monolith a few years later. However, despite the drastic re-imagining, Justice, always rockists at heart, preserved the original\u2019s fist-pumping immediacy, a detail too many remixes neglect. \u2013Adam Moerder<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Justice vs. Simian: \u201cWe Are Your Friends\u201d<\/p>\n

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143.<\/div>\n

Feist: \u201c1234\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s the song that sold a whole bunch of iPods, and gave \u201cSesame Street\u201d a chance to learn a new way to count. And it\u2019s a tune that vaguely mirrors Feist\u2019s own transformation from beloved Broken Social Scenester to ubiquitous adult-contemporary everywoman\u2013 it starts off modest and gentle atop some acoustic strumming (on guitar and banjo), and then gradually builds to an ebullient horn-filled crescendo, with Feist proving to be just as adept at belting as at murmuring, but never at the expense of the song. \u2013David Raposa<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Feist: \u201c1234\u201d<\/p>\n

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142.<\/div>\n

The Flaming Lips: \u201cDo You Realize??\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

The Flaming Lips nabbed critics with The Soft Bulletin<\/em> and their carnivalesque live performances, but \u201cDo You Realize??\u201d secured their public spotlight for years to come. Their commercial profile is one of many strange twists and turns over their career, and \u201cDo You Realize??\u201d does more than just announce it: it challenged them to take the vulnerability and earnestness of The Soft Bulletin<\/em> widescreen, and not fall headfirst into a bucket of sap. The lyrics walk that tightrope precariously, but it\u2019s really only the Lips, after years of spiritual quests, spider bites, flaming cymbals, and constant self-exploration, who can earn them. \u2013Jason Crock<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Flaming Lips: \u201cDo You Realize??\u201d<\/p>\n

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141.<\/div>\n

Britney Spears: \u201cToxic\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

The thing that made Britney\u2019s mid-decade breakdown so distressing is that the lady actually had great pop instincts. It\u2019s not like when Jessica Simpson lost her damn mind and we the listeners lost exactly nothing. Sure, Brit bounced back with Blackout<\/em>, but for better or worse she was a warbling ghost in her producer\u2019s gleaming machines. \u201cToxic\u201d was the last great Britney single (so far), the last where it felt like a personality was inhabiting the tune. (Britney always had more individualist pep than her peers, important when you\u2019re dealing with steamroller productions from the mind of Max Martin.) And as a bonus, the backing track remains deeply, enjoyably weird-but-catchy: a club-tempo stepping breakbeat colored by James Bond soundtrack outtakes. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Britney Spears: \u201cToxic\u201d<\/p>\n

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140.<\/div>\n

Interpol: \u201cNYC\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

From \u201cNew York, New York\u201d, Ryan Adams\u2019 accidental anthem, to Cat Power\u2019s Sinatra cover, to LCD Soundsystem\u2019s waning-decade lament \u201cI love you but you\u2019re bringing me down,\u201d 9\/11\u2019s musical legacy is a still-unresolved mess of bewildered public discourse and private grief. With its aqueous chords and Paul Banks\u2019 quietly desperate, yet poker-faced pronouncements, nothing, perhaps, vents the city\u2019s confusion and ambivalence as elegantly as \u201cNYC\u201d. Everyone always remembers \u201csubway is a porno,\u201d and forgets the chorus, \u201cNew York cares,\u201d but this song isn\u2019t just some hipster\u2019s crack-of-dawn crawl home. It\u2019s also an epiphany a lot of New Yorkers reached post-attack: Civic disengagement\u2019s no longer an option. \u2013Amy Granzin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Interpol: \u201cNYC\u201d<\/p>\n

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139.<\/div>\n

Daft Punk: \u201cHarder, Better, Faster, Stronger\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Dance songs with instructional chants for lyrics tend to have a short shelf life. So upon first hearing \u201cHarder, Better, Faster Stronger\u201d (and to a greater extent, \u201cOne More Time\u201d), I wondered if the new decade had already stumbled upon its \u201cBodyrock\u201d or \u201cRockafeller Skank\u2019. But how has \u201cHarder\u201d stood the test of time when so much borderline-brainwashing big beat has turned into dated punchlines? Because even if Kanye made it really tough to find as much novelty in those vocals, there\u2019s just so much else to be amazed at that transcends novelty: go ahead and press play again and try to remember which part is your favorite\u2013 the 10 seconds before the intro beat drops? That ridiculous breakdown after the vocals go all widdly-widdly like an electric guitar? There are 138 songs on this list that do a better job of improving your day immediately? In terms of both artists and listeners, this decade has in large part been defined by its pleasure-seekers, and no matter where they sought their thrills, it never seemed like we got too far removed from \u201cHarder, Better, Faster, Stronger\u201d. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Daft Punk: \u201cHarder, Better, Faster, Stronger\u201d<\/p>\n

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138.<\/div>\n

D\u2019Angelo: \u201cUntitled (How Does It Feel?)\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

This single became notorious for its sexually charged video, featuring a series of lingering shots of D\u2019Angelo\u2019s nude body that split the difference between mass voyeurism and personal intimacy. But the rapturous intensity in his lushly multi-tracked vocal performance still holds more weight than any pin-up shot could\u2013 swooping and diving, gliding smoothly over the sway of the beat only to punctuate it with a sharp hitch or an extension of his deceptively delicate falsetto into an intense wail. The musical backing only adds to that euphoria, with gospel-soul pianos direct from Aretha\u2019s Muscle Shoals sessions intertwined with pre-Dirty Mind<\/em> (but still dirty-minded) Prince guitars. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> D\u2019Angelo: \u201cUntitled (How Does It Feel?)\u201d<\/p>\n

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137.<\/div>\n

Ladytron: \u201cDestroy Everything You Touch\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

The average pop song is a short lesson in delayed gratification\u2013 a calibrated crawl from intro and pattern-stamping verse to the big chorus. \u201cDestroy Everything You Touch\u201d has no such self-control: just 16 seconds in, the scorched-earth banger explodes and then gleefully burns for more than four minutes on sarcasm and spite. In an evil-genius marriage of sound and image, the catwalk-perfect \u201cDestroy\u201d partly soundtracks the forthcoming film doc about Anna Wintour, Vogue<\/em> chief and booster bar none of last-capitalist excess. Marx should be so persuasive. \u2013Amy Granzin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ladytron: \u201cDestroy Everything You Touch\u201d<\/p>\n

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136.<\/div>\n

Ghostface Killah: \u201cShakey Dog\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

We enter Ghost\u2019s stream-of-consciousness stick-up narrative with the action already in progress, and leave with a \u201cto be continued.\u201d Within this seemingly arbitrary framework, however, Ghost omits no detail: the lady with the shopping cart hiding a cocked shottie, the steak and onions cooking down the hall, the \u201cSanford and Son\u201d theme. Amidst the soul-superhero horn charts and Ghost\u2019s dizzying thick description, it\u2019s that sustained, soulful vocal note present throughout that gives \u201cShakey\u201d its bullet-time panopticon perspective, with no bit of minutiae too tiny to mention. Tony Montana reference notwithstanding, \u201cShakey\u201d is part cinema v\u00e9rit\u00e9, part \u201cCSI\u201d. \u2013Eric Harvey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ghostface Killah: \u201cShakey Dog\u201d<\/p>\n

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135.<\/div>\n

The Strokes: \u201cThe Modern Age\u201d [EP version] (2001)<\/h2>\n

Though they were one of the most talked-about bands of the decade, the Strokes were never among the highest-selling. Maybe it had to do with the fact that their feverishly anticipated debut album, Is This It?<\/em>, had the misfortunate of dropping just weeks after 9\/11, rendering their carefree garage-rock jangle\u2013 of which this debut single still stands as the purest distillation\u2013 almost instantly out of time and place. But even if the Strokes\u2019 \u201cModern Age\u201d sounded a lot like Lou Reed\u2019s golden one, the song belongs to that rarefied class of singles that (like \u201cPlease Please Me\u201d and \u201cGod Save the Queen\u201d before it) divides history between the before and the after\u2013 specifically, a modern age defined by a ceaseless parade of definitely-articled, skinny-jeaned, pretty-boy rock bands, and an increasingly accelerated mode of blog-about\/spit-\u2019em-out musical consumption. However, divorced from the hyperbole that greeted its release, \u201cThe Modern Age\u201d now just sounds like a sweet, innocent ode to fun in the sun\u2013 and a poignant time capsule of a world where it\u2019s still Sept. 10, all the time. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Strokes: \u201cThe Modern Age\u201d [EP version]<\/p>\n

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134.<\/div>\n

Clipse: \u201cTrill\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Clipse\u2019s Hell Hath No Fury<\/em> is too thick with highlights to truly contain a centerpiece, but there is something about the dark, streamlined \u201cTrill\u201d that beats very close to the album\u2019s steely heart. For the album the Clipse brothers requested only the Neptunes craziest productions, and here Pharell Williams and Chad Hugo dutifully respond by packing \u201cTrill\u201d tight with bass, jittery beats, and motion-sick keyboards. The track\u2019s ultimate brilliance depends entirely upon the way Malice and Pusha T are able to faultlessly balance their matter-of-fact braggadocio above the song\u2019s shifting, precarious instrumental backdrop\u2013 as though savoring a brief moment before it all comes crashing down. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Clipse: \u201cTrill\u201d<\/p>\n

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133.<\/div>\n

Belle and Sebastian: \u201cYour Cover\u2019s Blown\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

To parse NME<\/em>\u2019s cheeky comparison from 2004, there\u2019s a bit of bohemian in \u201cYour Cover\u2019s Blown,\u201d but not much rhapsody. \u201cCover\u201d is more a slinky spy theme for breaking free from scenester security, and Stuart Murdoch plays the puppetmaster with puckish understatement. But this doesn\u2019t mean that \u201cCover\u201d\u2013 still the funkiest and longest song Belle & Sebastian have created\u2013 doesn\u2019t create its own form of dramatic tension. The quickly alternating currents of chippy disco rhythms and Bolero<\/em>-style guitar make Murdoch\u2019s anxiously told tale of surreptitiously splitting the city for the sticks into a quietly garish operetta. \u2013Eric Harvey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Belle and Sebastian: \u201cYour Cover\u2019s Blown\u201d<\/p>\n

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132.<\/div>\n

Panda Bear: \u201cComfy in Nautica\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Noah Lennox\u2019s to-do list, summer 2005: Go to Coney Island. Clap more. Hear the beauty in thunderstorms. Watch the night skies for UFOs. Define \u201ccoolness\u201d without being uncool or getting into one of those boring \u201cwhat does \u2018indie\u2019 even mean anymore, brah?\u201d dormroom bull sessions. Place off-kilter but emotionally packed melodies over repetitive loop collages, establishing a new instrumental paradigm for forward-looking rock and pop musicians. Render Animal Collective\u2019s past yawpy unintelligibility newly intelligible; don\u2019t lose sight of all that you can\u2019t put into words. Capture the sound of the global village chanting. Be less afraid. \u201cTry to remember always\/ Just to have a good time.\u201d Underline those last two words. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Panda Bear: \u201cComfy in Nautica\u201d<\/p>\n

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131.<\/div>\n

Destiny\u2019s Child: \u201cSay My Name\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Beyonc\u00e9 is a force now, but it would be almost impossible for her to ever again wield the kind of stranglehold over the world\u2019s ears the way Destiny\u2019s Child did at the turn of the millennium. At the time, they so thoroughly dominated the charts and airwaves, the hits just kept coming even when they ditched half the band. \u201cSay My Name\u201d is DC at their peak, riding a tidal wave of feisty righteousness to the<\/em> ladies club anthem of 2000. The girls stop and start like ultrafine robots, sleekly maneuvering through producer Rodney Jerkins\u2019 arsenal of space-age R&B effects. I could never figure out why the guy in the song even picked up the phone in the first place, though. \u2013Amy Phillips<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Destiny\u2019s Child: \u201cSay My Name\u201d<\/p>\n

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Anti-<\/p>\n

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130.<\/div>\n

Spoon: \u201cThe Underdog\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s only fitting that on a song called \u201cThe Underdog\u201d Britt Daniel takes a well-deserved victory lap. For folks that remember Spoon\u2019s failed dalliance with Elektra Records, this song\u2019s call to \u201ccut out the middleman\u201d might sound like a long-awaited response to the two-song Saddle Creek single Daniel once recorded in honor of the group\u2019s less-than-honorable A&R rep. But that was a long, long time ago\u2013 if anything, \u201cThe Underdog\u201d is just emblematic of Spoon\u2019s unabashed embrace of the pop sophistication they\u2019ve been honing throughout their Merge career, critics and naysayers be damned. When the tune\u2019s handclaps give way to a boisterous horn section, it\u2019s a middle finger to any and all doubters and purists, and it\u2019s delivered with an infectious smile. \u2013David Raposa<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Spoon: \u201cThe Underdog\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mercury \/ Island Def Jam<\/p>\n

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129.<\/div>\n

Andrew W.K.: \u201cParty Hard\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

There\u2019s a place in music for subtlety, layered meaning, and nuance, but it\u2019s somewhere way the fuck on the other side of town from this piston-pumping, steam-rolling, brick-wall-compressed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life riff machine. Indeed, the first single from I Get Wet<\/em> wins the decade\u2019s truth in advertising award: It\u2019s called \u201cParty Hard\u201d, it opens with the phrase \u201cWhen it\u2019s time to party, we party hard,\u201d the verses are about partying (hard), and the chorus features shouts of \u201cParty hard!\u201d over and over. Before Red Bull and vodka became fashionable and sports drink companies made the decade all about the pursuit of eXtreme energy, the movement already had its anthem. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Andrew W.K.: \u201cParty Hard\u201d<\/p>\n

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128.<\/div>\n

The Mountain Goats: \u201cNo Children\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

\u201cNo Children\u201d would be one of the most lacerating breakup songs of all time…if John Darnielle actually allowed his characters to break up. Instead, Darnielle\u2019s frequently chronicled Alpha Couple are doomed to drown together, \u201chand in unlovable hand.\u201d As the couple\u2019s male half spews bilious hate-fuckery in the direction of his wife, sprightly piano props him up, symptomatic of the way Tallahassee<\/em> pushed Darnielle\u2019s previously stubborn lo-fi aesthetic towards studio sheen. Besides, if she\u2019s gone, who would be left for our narrator to hate more than himself? At least they didn\u2019t have any children, thank god. \u2013Amy Phillips<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Mountain Goats: \u201cNo Children\u201d<\/p>\n

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127.<\/div>\n

Ciara: \u201cOh\u201d [ft. Ludacris] (2005)<\/h2>\n

Lyrically, \u201cOh\u201d could practically be a T.I. track, drunk on the little local-color details that rappers love so much. Musically, it\u2019s not too far off either, Dre & Vidal\u2019s organs copping that sunny \u201cRubber Band Man\u201d melodicism. But Ciara\u2019s gorgeous robo-sigh of a voice is something else entirely. She floats just above the beat, slowly and breathily pushing it back and forth. When Ludacris jumps on board for one for a typically masterful hyperspeed guest-verse (and good lord he was on a roll back then), he\u2019s the antic, amped-up counterpoint to Ciara\u2019s slow sensuality. Every city deserves a song like \u201cOh\u201d in its honor; almost none get one. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ciara: \u201cOh\u201d [ft. Ludacris]<\/p>\n

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Thrill Jockey<\/p>\n

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126.<\/div>\n

Califone: \u201cThe Orchids\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Sometimes for better but oftentimes for worse, Califone have forsaken song for sound, reveling in the possibilities of the studio while obfuscating Tim Rutili\u2019s fragmentary ditties. The same holds for British industrialists Psychic TV, who, after a ponderous instrumental introduction, led 1983\u2019s Dreams Less Sweet<\/em> with \u201cThe Orchids\u201d. Lifted by pointillist keyboards and ascendant horns, it remains one of the band\u2019s purest pop moments. Califone one-ups them on this cover: After a violin fanfare, the veterans saunter through what might be the most cohesive, communicative and contagious three minutes of their repertoire. In Rutili\u2019s weary voice, the song\u2019s resilient mantra\u2013 \u201cIn the morning after the night\/ I fall in love with the light\u201d\u2013 feels like a testimonial. \u2013Grayson Currin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Califone: \u201cThe Orchids\u201d<\/p>\n

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125.<\/div>\n

The Field: \u201cOver the Ice\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Minimalism tends to work in deep code, with referential gestures that cater to initiates on a very \u201chead\u201d level, but the Field imbues it with huge, rushing feeling: No arcane knowledge required. \u201cOver the Ice\u201d is your pulse, your stride, the blood squeaking in your ears. It\u2019s also the voices in your head, chattering in a benevolent language, and your bright, ringing nerves. It eventually became a permanent part of me, that staccato \u201cda, da-da, da-da, da-da da\u201d still on silent repeat in my head. This might be a problem if it weren\u2019t so salutary, organizing the chaos of ecstatic experience into endlessly hospitable courses. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Field: \u201cOver the Ice\u201d<\/p>\n

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124.<\/div>\n

Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: \u201cWhere Have All the Rude Boys Gone?\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Yeah, it\u2019s about the Specials; the key line in Ted Leo\u2019s fedora-tip and hit of liquid sunshine isn\u2019t the second-wave ska roll call, but the one about dancing and being free. And the elements of \u201cRude Boys\u201d\u2013 Leo\u2019s ever-impassioned pleas, the rumbling rhythm section, that overjoyed guitar running up its center\u2013 sounds both like that freedom and will easily inspire that dancing. So the message to you, Rudy, isn\u2019t really about bygone days, but about possibility of the future: of being young, of having a favorite sound, and, heck, maybe even of ending your punk song in a round. \u2013Paul Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: \u201cWhere Have All the Rude Boys Gone?\u201d<\/p>\n

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123.<\/div>\n

Kanye West: \u201cJesus Walks\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Oh Kanye. On only his third single ever, he can\u2019t help but congratulate himself inside the actual song for supposedly bringing the Lord back to hip-hop airwaves. But comparing his relationship with Christ to Kathie Lee and Regis isn\u2019t exactly St. Augustine\u2019s Confessions. Instead, \u201cJesus Walks\u201d is a densely layered premonition of the producer\/rapper\u2019s ambitions, from a guy mostly known at the time for playing soul records at the wrong RPM. Militaristic drums, choral melisma, snake-charmer keyboards, and swatches of orchestration made \u201cJesus Walks\u201d an odd thing to spill out car windows in Summer 2004, if more for the music than the message. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kanye West: \u201cJesus Walks\u201d<\/p>\n

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122.<\/div>\n

Cam\u2019ron: \u201cHey Ma\u201d [ft. Juelz Santana, Freekey Zekey, and Toya] (2002)<\/h2>\n

\u201cWhy in the world would anybody put chains on me?\u201d croons Lionel Richie on the 1977 breakup ballad \u201cEasy\u201d. In a roundabout way, \u201cHey Ma\u201d\u2013 which nicks the Commodores classic for its summer barbecue beat\u2013 asks the same question: Why commit when Cam and Juelz make (um) casual relations sound like a worthwhile be-all, end-all? Even with his reams of rat-a-tat talk and self-directed C-movies soaked in fake blood, Cam is still at his best when flashing that devil-may-care smirk, as on this flirty manifesto. Then there\u2019s sidekick Juelz, who actually is a goofy and eager teenager; \u201cI\u2019m 18 and live a crazy life\/ Plus, I\u2019ll tell you what the 80s like,\u201d he raps, stepping to a girl who doesn\u2019t need a fake ID. She laughs; so do we. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Cam\u2019ron: \u201cHey Ma\u201d [ft. Juelz Santana, Freekey Zekey, and Toya]<\/p>\n

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121.<\/div>\n

Johnny Boy: \u201cYou Are the Generation That Bought More Shoes and You Get What You Deserve\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

The title of Johnny Boy\u2019s indie hit convicts us all of, well, something (consumerism, probably? Fashion?), but it\u2019s the London duo themselves that mimic 1960s big-studio mastery with a minimal setup of vocals, loops, and guitars. The same duo who appropriated Robert De Niro\u2019s punkass Mean Streets<\/em> act for bombastic, teeth-rotting pop. The lesson? We\u2019re all killing everything dead but the tombstones are going to be fucking awesome<\/em>. So we buy Burberry and Adidas and a couple of never-heard-from-since Brits apply Queen-dynamics to the Supremes and make off for a world where Joey Ramone looks like Steve McQueen. \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Johnny Boy: \u201cYou Are the Generation That Bought More Shoes and You Get What You Deserve\u201d<\/p>\n

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Source \/ Astralwerks<\/p>\n

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120.<\/div>\n

Phoenix: \u201cIf I Ever Feel Better\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Disco meets soft-rock with production so shiny it verges on the antiseptic, which makes it no surprise that I heard \u201cIf I Ever Feel Better” as the outro music on \u201cEntourage\u201d the other night, one of many times Phoenix has served as pop cultural bumper music in the last decade. But what makes \u201cIf I Ever Feel Better\u201d, well, better than your typical 21st-century high-gloss yacht schlock is that there\u2019s no studio filter to fake true ebullience or<\/em> melancholy. When singer Thomas Mars rushes smiling through four flushed \u201cI can try\u201ds, that giddiness is infectious. Plus the music really is awesomely slick and catchy, which should never be discounted when discussing capital-P pop. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Phoenix: \u201cIf I Ever Feel Better\u201d<\/p>\n

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119.<\/div>\n

T.I.: \u201cRubber Band Man\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

The nine in his right and the 45 in his other hand got him in some trouble a few years later. But at the time, nobody minded that Tip was bragging on his arsenal while a mob of school-kids chanted deliriously joyous la-la-las underneath. That\u2019s the thing about \u201cRubber Band Man\u201d: Its forbidding snarls evaporate when confronted with David Banner\u2019s ice-rink organ and candy-floss melody. Tip\u2019s got a striver\u2019s quiet confidence, reveling in his small triumphs: \u201cBut why the rubber band? It representin\u2019 the struggle, man.\u201d Ludacris later made fun of Tip for only being worth a piddling couple hundred grand, but that didn\u2019t last long, either. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> T.I.: \u201cRubber Band Man\u201d<\/p>\n

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Elefant \/ Merge<\/p>\n

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118.<\/div>\n

Camera Obscura: \u201cLloyd, I\u2019m Ready to Be Heartbroken\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Lloyd Cole was a lyrical namedropper in his day, but it was the nameless, second-person address in \u201cAre You Ready to be Heartbroken\u201d that had the most lasting effect. Thankfully, one of those moved by it 22 years later was fellow Scot Tracyanne Campbell, who set about crafting that rarest type of response song. \u201cLloyd\u201d packs the sort of built-up, bittersweet patience that comes from finally replying to an old letter pulled from the bottom of a dresser drawer, and is perfectly situated within Motown-derived pop-soul, giving that indelible refrain equal parts effervescent joy and lonesome resignation. \u2013Eric Harvey<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Camera Obscura: \u201cLloyd, I\u2019m Ready to Be Heartbroken\u201d<\/p>\n

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117.<\/div>\n

Animal Collective: \u201cLeaf House\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

If Animal Collective have a pivot point, it\u2019s here\u2013 when their arrangements became lean, spare, and syncopated; when they salvaged their vocals from the margins and evolved beyond the shout and moan; when South American and African music emerged as influences in their sound, not just sidebar bullet points about their record collections. After the humid Here Comes the Indian<\/em>, I doubt even their most slavish fans expected music as lithe as \u201cLeaf House\u201d. I remember exactly where and when I first heard it\u2013 there\u2019s probably still saliva in the carpet. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Animal Collective: \u201cLeaf House\u201d<\/p>\n

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Third Man \/ XL<\/p>\n

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116.<\/div>\n

The White Stripes: \u201cDead Leaves and the Dirty Ground\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

That loud squeal that opens the first song on the White Stripes\u2019 third album\u2013 for many listeners it was their debut\u2013 announced the duo\u2019s arrival as neither garage-rock bandwagoneers nor showboating blues revivalists. \u201cDead Leaves\u201d mapped out a primitive sound that came across as downright innovative in 2001, pairing Jack\u2019s gargantuan guitar riff with Meg\u2019s rudimentarily pounding to create a song that moved effortlessly between cracks of thunder and pockets of quiet. Instead of delivering another screed against women as evildoers (a common blues depiction), Jack sings the tenderest of love-song sentiments: Her every breath is a \u201ctiny little gift,\u201d and he sounds like the most mannish boy for acknowledging it. \u2013Stephen M. Deusner<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The White Stripes: \u201cDead Leaves and the Dirty Ground\u201d<\/p>\n

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115.<\/div>\n

Dirty Projectors: \u201cStillness Is the Move\u201d (2009)<\/h2>\n

Imagine the bored, flat, tuneless tones of a thousand underwhelming indie vocalists drove a hipster to the demonstrative gymnastics of Mariah Carey or the playful entreaties of Rihanna. But imagine that listener still musically craved the left-turn dissonance and unpredictability of his favorite arty strivers. Now you understand part of the reason why so many indie acolytes eventually acknowledge the triumphalism of pop, and why \u201cStillness Is the Move\u201d was such a godsend, pairing Angel Deradoorian and Amber Coffman\u2019s soaring, heart-stopping testimonials with such satisfyingly squiggly guitars and creative melodic and harmonic shifts. \u2013Joshua Love<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dirty Projectors: \u201cStillness Is the Move\u201d<\/p>\n

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Touch and Go \/ Warp<\/p>\n

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114.<\/div>\n

!!!: \u201cMe and Giuliani Down By the Schoolyard (A True Story)\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

The lyrics were already outdated by the time they released this single in 2003 (young folks: Rudy Giuliani was once New York City\u2019s law\u2019n\u2019order mayor, 1994-2001), and frankly Nic Offer isn\u2019t much of a singer. But a) Who cares, and b) Who cares\u2013 neither were his models in the Clash, New Order, and Liquid Liquid. !!! advanced all of those bands\u2019 tradition of integrating the urgent abrasion of underground rock into the time-obliterating throb of club music (hint: cowbell!!!<\/em>). The most thrilling moments of the many packed into “Giuliani”\u2019s nine minutes come when an electronic pulse emerges from a sour thicket of rock instruments, or when the machines do an echo-dub dive away from the mix and the human noise rises back to the surface. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> !!!: \u201cMe and Giuliani Down By the Schoolyard (A True Story)\u201d<\/p>\n

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Star Trak \/ Virgin<\/p>\n

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113.<\/div>\n

Kelis: \u201cMilkshake\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

When Kelis and the Neptunes first came together, they were relative unknowns with weirdbeat designs on the charts. Thus began the mutual rise that commenced with 1999\u2019s twerky Kaleidoscope<\/em> and peaked with \u201cMilkshake\u201d. With its atonal, disruptive clatter, it has the distinction of unofficially ushering in the brief era of the female meme-chasing single (see: \u201cHollaback Girl\u201d, \u201cMy Humps\u201d) while simultaneously being one of the last big-bottomed hits to flourish before being subsumed by the high-end-fixated sing-songy ringtone R&B that remains summer\u2019s hottest look. Speaking of memes, \u201cmilkshake\u201d did well in the noughties. But before Henry Plainview drank it, Kelis brought it. \u2013Mark Pytlik<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kelis: \u201cMilkshake\u201d<\/p>\n

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Playhouse \/ Feedelity<\/p>\n

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112.<\/div>\n

Lindstr\u00f8m: \u201cI Feel Space\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Hans-Peter Lindstr\u00f8m certainly wasn\u2019t the first artist to re-imagine Giorgio Moroder and Donna Summer\u2019s classic Italo-disco prototype \u201cI Feel Love\u201d, but he arguably did it best. Indeed, the Norwegian producer\u2019s \u201cI Feel Space\u201d sounds not unlike Moroder launched into outer orbit, its arpeggiated synths and thumping bass so bouncy they could have been recorded in zero gravity. The high-water mark for what became known as space disco? Sure. But \u201cI Feel Space\u201d is an even simpler victory: The employment of traditional music-making expertise\u2013 check the sweeping chord changes and perfectly timed handclaps\u2013 in the creation of one flawless dance track. \u2013Joe Colly<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lindstr\u00f8m: \u201cI Feel Space\u201d<\/p>\n

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Virgin<\/p>\n

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111.<\/div>\n

Aaliyah: \u201cWe Need a Resolution\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

R&B has made a craft of apportioning guilt as much as declaring love, but \u201cWe Need a Resolution\u201d despairs at ever separating the two. \u201cYou got issues, I got issues,\u201d Aaliyah sighs, as always evocative rather than exhibitionist, \u201cbut I know I miss you\u2026\u201d The song\u2019s series of questions (\u201cWho should be hurt? Who should be blamed?\u201d) could only have been asked by Aaliyah; any other singer would have given away the answers. Timbaland\u2019s arrangement offers little guidance, its unsettling clarinet melody, chattering beat, and gamelan twinkles balancing on a knifepoint of uncertainty fully as much as Aaliyah\u2019s delicate interrogation. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Aaliyah: \u201cWe Need a Resolution\u201d<\/p>\n

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XL \/ Matador<\/p>\n

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110.<\/div>\n

Dizzee Rascal: \u201cFix Up Look Sharp\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Dizzee Rascal ends the 2000s as Britain\u2019s biggest urban music star. \u201cFix Up Look Sharp\u201d was his first record to suggest that might be a safe bet. He had more surprising songs and more challenging tracks but \u201cFix Up\u201d had the muscle and hunger. That delirious signature yelp of cartoon contempt began here\u2013 \u201cyour head splits like ba-NARNAR\u201d and the flow demonstrated that Dizzee could make the hugest hook his own. In truth \u201cFix Up\u201d is as fiercely stark as any 00s production but you simply don\u2019t notice that: Dizzee\u2019s addictive, dominating talent turns it into thrillingly uncompromising pop. \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dizzee Rascal: \u201cFix Up Look Sharp\u201d<\/p>\n

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109.<\/div>\n

Grizzly Bear: \u201cKnife\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

There\u2019s a palpable musk around \u201cKnife\u201d, as if it were buried for a long time and then exhumed in 2006. You might peg the date of interment in the 60s, when the Shangri-Las and George \u201cShadow\u201d Morton were clotting simple yet twisted love songs with mossy production, making them sound all deathy and decayed. There are just a few words, inscribed in a lavish script on the harmonies; a handful of chords. But a whole host of sensations pour through them, and not just emotional ones: The guitars prickle and clutch; the refrains scale ear-popping altitudes. You can, it turns out, feel the knife<\/em>. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Grizzly Bear: \u201cKnife\u201d<\/p>\n

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108.<\/div>\n

The Hold Steady: \u201cThe Swish\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

The Hold Steady came as a relief to squares who liked AC\/DC\u2019s riffs but got tired of searching for value in cock jokes on repeated listens. But they weren\u2019t simple\u2013 their songs were long; their verses obsessively detailed; their codas jarring; their theater weird. Craig Finn didn\u2019t need vocal melodies\u2013 he had one-liners. This is a guy messing with puns the year Funeral<\/em> came out. He rants with such force that, with headphones on, you can feel spit showering your eardrums. Though they\u2019re a band best experienced as a big picture, \u201cThe Swish\u201d distills their appeal to an essence\u2013 a collage of 70s rock dressed in pop-culture trivia and half-remembered stories about drug dealers. A fan\u2019s band from the first song. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Hold Steady: \u201cThe Swish\u201d<\/p>\n

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Gooom \/ Mute<\/p>\n

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107.<\/div>\n

M83: \u201cDon\u2019t Save Us From the Flames\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

The fantasy of dying in your lover\u2019s arms amidst a fiery auto accident has been a pop staple from 1960s teen tragedy songs through the Smiths and beyond. With \u201cDon\u2019t Save Us From the Flames\u201d, M83\u2019s Anthony Gonzalez blows that tradition up into full-screen high definition, the track serving as a bridge between his more abstract earlier work and the explicit melodrama of 2008\u2019s Saturdays = Youth<\/em>. Here, the adrenaline spike of the car crash is replicated at the nexus of shoegaze bliss-out, ambient oblivion, and stadium rock release. Piledriving drums, headrush guitars, unearthly synths\u2013 not a bad way to go out, huh? \u2013Amy Phillips<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> M83: \u201cDon\u2019t Save Us From the Flames\u201d<\/p>\n

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106.<\/div>\n

The Mae Shi: \u201cRun to Your Grave\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

Who would guess that this hyperactive, riff-happy six-piece could calm down enough to craft an all-together-now anthem? Or that it would be a moving ode to sprinting through life to the end? In the year-plus since its release, the super-sunny “Run to Your Grave” has become even bigger and brighter, inspiring a bro-fest video and countless live sing-alongs (the band has even been known to stretch it into passages of solo-guitar folk and freestyle rap). But the humble little LP version remains a powerful bit of pied-piper synth-pop, while still retaining the band\u2019s Casio-freak edge. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Mae Shi: \u201cRun to Your Grave\u201d<\/p>\n

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105.<\/div>\n

Grinderman: \u201cNo Pussy Blues\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

In which Nick Cave proves there are few things funnier than a hyper-literate old man driven to sputtering frenzy by the erection he can\u2019t relieve. It takes bravery to add a fresh twist to a 30-year-career with a song about being hard up, though it probably mitigates some of the sting when you\u2019re mordantly self-aware, happily married, and take to black humor like the proverbial duck. It also helps when the backing track refuses any concessions to the encroaching gentility that seems to invariably come with age. And unlike most rock\u2019n\u2019roll songs about an inability to get your rocks off, you suspect the anti-adolescent \u201cNo Pussy Blues\u201d will only become more hilariously apt as you grow older, whatever your gender. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Grinderman: \u201cNo Pussy Blues\u201d<\/p>\n

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104.<\/div>\n

Eminem: \u201cLose Yourself\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

If this list reflected the number of \u201cno-one-watching, in-the-mirror, punch-the-air self-psyching\u201d-moments a song produced and not the whims of a group of music critics, this song would be such a runaway number one Vegas would\u2019ve stopped taking bets six months ago. It\u2019ll be quicker, so let\u2019s do it this way: raise your hand if you haven\u2019t<\/em> pumped yourself up for a workout, date, hockey game, or hipster-ogling with \u201cLose Yourself\u201d? Yeah, pretty much the same number that predicted Em\u2019s most lasting moment would be an almost too-serious soundtrack jig about the perils of a character named (presumably) after a John Updike protagonist. \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Eminem: \u201cLose Yourself\u201d<\/p>\n

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103.<\/div>\n

Feist: \u201cMushaboom\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Just do a cursory search for real estate in Mushaboom, Halifax. Look at the landscape shots. It\u2019s all you really need to know. Feist had been kicking around in punk bands, touring with Peaches, and singing sweet, fucked-up songs with Broken Social Scene for a decade before \u201cMushaboom\u201d. But then this simple song about simple life in the tiny Canadian town hit and your platonic indie pop ideal was born. Singing in a controlled lilt, Feist performs \u201cMushaboom\u201d like a plaintive acoustic number that just might fit right in on the Singin\u2019 in the Rain<\/em> soundtrack. From Peaches to Debbie Reynolds: This is the versatility of a great artist. \u2013Sean Fennessey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Feist: \u201cMushaboom\u201d<\/p>\n

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Modular \/ Island<\/p>\n

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102.<\/div>\n

Cut Copy: \u201cHearts on Fire\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

You once could find Cut Copy\u2019s debut Bright Like Neon Love<\/em> in the dollar bin at San Francisco\u2019s Amoeba Records. Think you\u2019ll find it there now? Neon Love<\/em>\u2019s diffident and dreamy synth-pop relegated the band to the fringes of hardcore appreciators. In the interim, their makeover, partially tended to by DFA\u2019s Tim Goldsworthy, morphed them into indie stars, fuelled first by the Hearts on Fire<\/em> EP in 2007 and a kaleidoscopic game of Human League that casts shadows of Berlin period Bowie. The best part? At 30 seconds in, keyboard stabs and female vocals chime in, and the song evokes the Night at the Roxbury<\/em> head-whipping of La Bouche or Haddaway. It takes stones to pull that off. \u2013Mike Orme<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Cut Copy: \u201cHearts on Fire\u201d<\/p>\n

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101.<\/div>\n

J\u00fcrgen Paape: \u201cSo Weit Wie Noch Nie\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Though the original version first appeared on Kompakt\u2019s 2001 Total 3<\/em> compilation, many listeners first discovered J\u00fcrgen Paape\u2019s luscious \u201cSo Weit Wie Noch Nie\u201d when Erlend \u00d8ye used the song as the opener for his stellar 2004 DJ-Kicks<\/em> mix. However you arrived at the track, its five-and-a-half minutes\u2013 a swaying, heady blend of weighty bass, spray-can hisses, and warm-blanket synths\u2013 remain some of the most thoroughly pleasurable techno of the decade. But what truly sets \u201cSo Weit Wie Noch Nie\u201d apart is Paape\u2019s masterful sampling of Israeli-born schlager<\/em> singer Daliah Lavi\u2019s wispy vocals, which elevates a gorgeous instrumental into something heavenly. \u2013Joe Colly<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> J\u00fcrgen Paape: \u201cSo Weit Wie Noch Nie\u201d<\/p>\n

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100.<\/div>\n

Jamie Lidell: \u201cMultiply\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

For a long time, Jamie Lidell was a voice in search of a vessel\u2013 a \u201cwalking talking question mark,\u201d as he put it in another song, who poured himself into his samplers on stage, hoping to find the loop that would straighten him out again. And then with \u201cMultiply\u201d, the lead track off his debut album, he found his container in a Sam Cooke castoff. Just a hair from all-out plagiarizing the melody of \u201c(Sittin\u2019 on) the Dock of the Bay\u201d, Lidell and his collaborator Mocky strung plucky electric guitar figures like so many clothespins along a loose, ropy drum line, with falsetto doo-wops billowing above. Lidell\u2013 multitracked, and singing sweetly of the schizo mindset\u2013 never sounded so whole. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jamie Lidell: \u201cMultiply\u201d<\/p>\n

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99.<\/div>\n

MGMT: \u201cTime to Pretend\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

What makes \u201cTime to Pretend\u201d so universally liked (even by cranky indie rock purists) is its dazzling wire walk between smug, smartass irony and actual lust for the kind of fucked-up celebrity lifestyle that keeps Perez Hilton in bandwidth. MGMT\u2019s perfect sound was an evolution. The duo\u2019s earlier self-produced Casio-chintzy version of the song made no secret of then-college students Ben Goldwasser and Andrew Van Wyngarden\u2019s dry disdain. But Dave Fridmann\u2019s major-label-funded take two is something out of Hieronymus Bosch, a lush pleasure garden of melodies twining like naked limbs, guitars and drums distorted into dirty, Ecstatic grooves. It\u2019s all a little unsettling\u2013 decadence always is. But MGMT pull \u201cPretend\u201d off with the kind of conviction that standing on the precipice of stardom can give you. \u2013Amy Granzin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> MGMT: \u201cTime to Pretend\u201d<\/p>\n

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Ba Da Bing! \/ 4AD<\/p>\n

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98.<\/div>\n

Beirut: \u201cPostcards From Italy\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

How fitting is it that this one initially rose to prominence via a nascent blogosphere? The story of \u201cPostcards\u201d is also the story of this hyperactive age of information exchange and accrual. Sure Beirut\u2019s Zach Condon had actually been to the Old Countries, but his appropriation of traditional Yiddish and French styles is still just that, and a tinge of desperation can be felt in this song\u2019s attempt to detach from the very age that, paradoxically, makes it possible. It\u2019s nostalgic, sure. But this wasn\u2019t so much, to crib James Murphy, borrowed nostalgia for an unremembered era. This was a kind of *imagined *nostalgia, one that could be acquired through the sheer act of looking at old photos\u2013 or postcards\u2013 and a sentiment that could be convincingly and compellingly evoked by a 20-year-old kid dreaming away in his New Mexico bedroom. It may sound entirely out of time, but \u201cPostcards\u201d is a decidedly 21st century anthem. \u2013Matthew Solarksi<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Beirut: \u201cPostcards From Italy\u201d<\/p>\n

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97.<\/div>\n

Belle and Sebastian: \u201cI\u2019m a Cuckoo (by the Avalanches)\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Belle and Sebastian believe in traveling light. The Avalanches believe in traveling. On 2003\u2019s Trevor Horn-produced Dear Catastrophe Waitress<\/em>, \u201cI\u2019m a Cuckoo\u201d was just one audaciously kooky, Thin Lizzy-owing AM pop thrill en route to the even greater lavishness of 2006\u2019s The Life Pursuit<\/em>. The Avalanches\u2019 reimagining spirits Stuart Murdoch\u2019s cheerfully heartbroken vocal (and not much else) to North Africa for hand-played percussion, wooden flute, and a Sudanese children\u2019s choir. Not only does this version make \u201cCuckoo\u201d finally sound as carefree as its melody, it also predicts indie pop\u2019s late-2000s turn Africa-ward. (See especially the Tough Alliance and Air France remixes of former Concretes singer Victoria Bergsman\u2019s Taken By Trees project.) So if Murdoch still would \u201crather be in Tokyo,\u201d he has some traveling left to do. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Belle and Sebastian: \u201cI\u2019m a Cuckoo (by the Avalanches)\u201d<\/p>\n

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Domino<\/p>\n

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96.<\/div>\n

Clinic: \u201cDistortions\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

It was hard to know what to make of Clinic when they debuted with a string of singles in the late 1990s. The only points of reference you could formulate to describe them were absurd and floral, like what if Radiohead and the Pixies were broadcasting garage-rock distress skronks from some lunar shore? But this enigmatic new-millennium band dropped its guard a little on the amorous-mixtape staple \u201cDistortions\u201d, which beat the Postal Service to the indie-electronic slow dance by several years. The funny thing is, it\u2019s not really a romantic song. Ade Blackburn may love it when you blink your eyes, but he\u2019s also picturing you dead and thinking about marrying your sister. Despite the devotional tone, you get the sneaky feeling that \u201cfree of distortions\u201d is a euphemism for being left alone. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Clinic: \u201cDistortions\u201d<\/p>\n

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95.<\/div>\n

Wolf Parade: \u201cI\u2019ll Believe in Anything\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019ll always go down as a Spencer Krug song, but \u201cI Believe in Anything\u201d testifies to the power of teamwork. Don\u2019t ask me how the blue collar Dan Boeckner ever gelled with an ADD Renaissance fair castaway like Krug, but this freak of a power ballad maximized the group\u2019s disparate strengths. Bands with cobbled-together lineups like Wolf Parade\u2019s too often fall short of the sum of their parts, usually because they don\u2019t have the artistic genius (or compromising skills) to take, say, this wacky funhouse melody and hammer it on repeat until it becomes a Springsteen anthem. It also doesn\u2019t hurt to have Wolf Parade\u2019s heart-on-sleeve conviction. Krug promises to take you to a place where \u201cnobody knows you\u201d or \u201cgives a damn either way\u201d, and the funny thing is, I trust him\u2013 even if he does sound like a weirdo. \u2013Adam Moerder<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Wolf Parade: \u201cI\u2019ll Believe in Anything\u201d<\/p>\n

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94.<\/div>\n

The Futureheads: \u201cHounds of Love\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

In the decade of post-punk pastiche overload, too few bands focused on the pop-centric quirk on those classic John Peel radio shows. What made the Futureheads 21st-century p-punk exemplars was their commitment to twee-boy harmonies as dizzyingly overlapping hooks. And it\u2019s the play of voices that made this Kate Bush cover more than a one-note joke.<\/p>\n

\u201cPlay\u201d is right: few contemporary rock bands have sounded like they\u2019re having as much fun<\/em> as the Futureheads. They almost trip over themselves in transforming Bush\u2019s paean to the slow surrender of control into a race to be the first one wrestled to the ground by love. In a decade when mainstream rock continued its ignoble slide into pure alpha-male-ism, it was beyond refreshing to see four boys embracing one of pop\u2019s most theatrically feminine figures. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Futureheads: \u201cHounds of Love\u201d<\/p>\n

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Aftermath \/ Shady \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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93.<\/div>\n

The Game: \u201cHate It or Love It\u201d [ft. 50 Cent] (2005)<\/h2>\n

The notion that 50 Cent was ever involved in a song this, well, appealing<\/em> feels pretty remote in 2009. He\u2019s deep into his late-period-Tyson decline now, the stage in which you brag about hanging out with Bette Midler on your mixtapes, narrate porn films, and (possibly) make an appearance on Foxy Boxing. But man, the Curtis of \u201cHate It or Love It\u201d\u2013 this<\/em> guy seemed like he might be a star forever. The nimble rhythm of the chant \u201chate it or love, the underdog\u2019s on top\u201d bobs and weaves around the syncopated bass line, and his evocative opening verse\u2013 his last great one\u2013 seems to summon Cool and Dre\u2019s summer-soul track into existence: sheepskin coats and gold ropes, Rakim\u2019s \u201cMy Melody\u201d, bikes getting stolen, mommy kissing a girl. By the time Game comes huffing onto the track, it\u2019s already all over, which is probably one of the reasons Game refuses to perform this song. He knows who it belongs to, and it still burns him up. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Game: \u201cHate It or Love It\u201d [ft. 50 Cent]<\/p>\n

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92.<\/div>\n

Modest Mouse: \u201c3rd Planet\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

The world begins and ends in \u201c3rd Planet\u201d, which is kind of a lot to tackle in a rock song. Birth, death, depression, possibly stoned revelations about the shape of the universe itself, all prove conversation fodder on this, the leadoff track to The Moon & Antarctica<\/em>, one of the decade\u2019s most expansive albums. Rattled by the loss of a child, Brock\u2013 one eye on his navel and the other fixed skyward\u2013 navigates the cosmic chaos as the band crafts a sound to match the scope of his gaze. Brock\u2019s disarmingly direct lyrics still manage to hint at a well of hurt and self-reflection a few minutes couldn\u2019t possibly hope to resolve\u2013 he dares to ask personal questions of the universe, and \u201c3rd Planet\u201d finds him posing some of the toughest ones yet. \u2013Paul Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Modest Mouse: \u201c3rd Planet\u201d<\/p>\n

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Because \/ Ed Banger \/ Vice<\/p>\n

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91.<\/div>\n

Justice: \u201cD.A.N.C.E.\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

Maybe it\u2019s just the \u201cP.Y.T.\u201d reference, but it\u2019s kinda hard to write about \u201cD.A.N.C.E.\u201d at this point without the mind eventually turning to Michael Jackson. Even forgetting the letter-by-letter MJ breadcrumb trail in the lyrics (\u201cP.Y.T.\u201d, \u201cB.E.A.T.\u201d, \u201cA.B.C\u201d), it always felt like this was Justice\u2019s best attempt to soften their pulverizing brand of French touch by locating it in a sweeter time, i.e., somewhere between the Jackson 5 and Off the Wall<\/em>. Hell, considering the syrupy disco strings, emphatic childlike joy, overstuffed melodies, and unrelenting technical efficiency at the heart of it, you could even build a case for this being a sort of loving metaphor for MJ pre-Thriller<\/em>. In the world outside of half-baked critical theory, \u201cD.A.N.C.E.\u201d suffered from more practical bugaboos in the form of flagrant and unrelenting overexposure. Swear to God there was a brief period in 2007 where it was government-mandated to appear in 40% of the world\u2019s advertisements and television musical montage moments. Are we ready to hear it again? Probably not quite yet. Good tune, though. \u2013Mark Pytlik<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Justice: \u201cD.A.N.C.E.\u201d<\/p>\n

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90.<\/div>\n

The Streets: \u201cWeak Become Heroes\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

The fourth single from the Streets\u2019 2002 album, Original Pirate Material<\/em>, jettisoned the cocky Cockney mirth and the jovial 2-step skip of its predecessors in favor of a gently swinging, genuinely heartfelt piano-house ballad. The object of Mike Skinner\u2019s then-24-year-old affections? His first E, its dizzy new heights breathlessly described with a storyteller\u2019s pitch-perfect eye for detail, right down to \u201cMad little events happen,\u201d which should ring true for anyone who\u2019s ever puzzled over the jigsaw contours of the chemical night. Rising piano chords and muted drums carry as if from at the far end of the field; Skinner metes out observations like crumbly Mitsubishi quarters to the new mates gathered around him, the \u201cweak become heroes\u201d who are both audience and subject of his starry-eyed tale of rave\u2019s star-crossed generation. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Streets: \u201cWeak Become Heroes\u201d<\/p>\n

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89.<\/div>\n

The Postal Service: \u201cSuch Great Heights\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Really, the Postal Service\u2019s sound was an inevitable development. Just as laptops begin infiltrating stages and indie rock began to finally turn away from years of anti-electronic orthodoxy, Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello made themselves the odds-on favorites to play genre husbandry when \u201c(This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan\u201d grabbed ears on Tamborello\u2019s 2001 Dntel album. So the world was ready for \u201cSuch Great Heights\u201d when it finally appeared, a salad of itchy microhouse beats and pointillist synthesizers rescuing Gibbard\u2019s dreamy love song from congealing into a thick Jack Johnson sap (a hazard Iron & Wine helpfully demonstrated). Go ahead and blame the Postal Service for launching the subsequent decade of lazy lap-pop, but it\u2019s a \u201cblame Star Wars<\/em> for Transformers 2<\/em>\u201d sort of haterade, assigning guilt to Gibbard and Tamborello for making an updated synth-pop song so perfect, it introduced a new vocabulary to emo kids\u2019 bedrooms, for better or (mostly) worse. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Postal Service: \u201cSuch Great Heights\u201d<\/p>\n

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88.<\/div>\n

The New Pornographers: \u201cLetter From an Occupant\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Carl Newman certainly knows his way around a hook, and I can count three distinct, why-not-just-build-a-song-around-me candidates in the New Pornographers\u2019 barnburning \u201cLetter From an Occupant\u201d: the chorus, of course, \u201cwhere have all sensations gone?\u201d, and the \u201csong is shaking me\u201d bit. So you take one of Newman\u2019s most strident earworms from a decade that found him in no short supply of them, get the incomparable Neko Case to wow and flutter over top in what\u2019s almost certainly her finest vocal performance on a New Pornographers record, have your band of sorta-superstars pound out some no-nonsense neon behind it, and whaddya know, there\u2019s nary a second that goes by that could be any catchier. Show offs. \u2013Paul Thompson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The New Pornographers: \u201cLetter From an Occupant\u201d<\/p>\n

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87.<\/div>\n

Mike Jones: \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d [ft. Paul Wall and Slim Thug] (2005)<\/h2>\n

\u201cI got the internet goin\u2019 nuts,\u201d Paul Wall drawled near the end of \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d, a weirdly arcane boast at the time but absolutely a true one. Back in the pre-YouTube days of late 2004, the grainy BET Uncut video for \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d, later recut without the girl blowing Slim Thug in the Escalade, circulated online and set everyone to Googling. The appeal of the song wasn\u2019t quite in the rapping, though the rumble-voiced Slim easily won MVP honors there. Instead, it was the hazy, trapped-in-amber feel of the song, the way Salih Williams\u2019 mournful violin moan slowly floated above the trunk-rattling bass, the way the rappers\u2019 unflappable voices lazily wound their way through everything, encapsulating the city\u2019s slow-crawl aesthetic in one bite-size chunk.<\/p>\n

After \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d, every rapper on the song got a major-label contract, as did half the rappers in the city. None of them became stars, and none of them recaptured the magic of this song. But \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d still sounds like steam rising off hot asphalt. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mike Jones: \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d [ft. Paul Wall and Slim Thug]<\/p>\n

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86.<\/div>\n

Mclusky: \u201cTo Hell With Good Intentions\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

By the early 2000s, indie rock had grown largely disconnected from its 80s post-hardcore roots, trading in once-prized qualities like dissonance and provocation for cuddly, campfire collectivism or synth-pop sleekness. But these three cranky Welshmen weren\u2019t going down without a fight\u2013 or at least a good larf. Over a bruising backbeat and a riff that feels like chewed tinfoil, Andy Falkous unleashes a veritable Quote-of-the-Day calendar of one-liners (\u201cMy band is better than your band\/ We got more songs than a song convention\u201d) that skewer the sport of indie-elitist one-upmanship. But the most resonant lines are the least cheeky: \u201cWhen we gonna torch the restaurant? When we gonna get excited?\u201d\u2013 desperate pleas for anarchic abandon that would go unanswered at a time when popular indie rock was forsaking its core contrarian ideologies in favor of strategic placements on episodes of \u201cThe O.C.\u201d and Starbucks display racks. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Mclusky: \u201cTo Hell With Good Intentions\u201d<\/p>\n

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85.<\/div>\n

Phoenix: \u201cLong Distance Call\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

The best moment during \u201cLong Distance Call\u201d is when singer Thomas Mars, in the second verse, draws the line between \u201cdoing well well well\u201d and \u201conly doing just fine.\u201d If that were the entire emotional spectrum the peppy, perpetually lovelost Mars experienced, no one would be surprised. But \u201cLong Distance Call\u201d draws a tension between Mars\u2019 laissez-faire<\/em> mantra-making (\u201cYour capital letters keep me asking for more\u201d) and his bandmates\u2019 up-off-the-floor-there-pal riffing.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cLong Distance Call\u201d is a song about… well, I\u2019m not sure exactly, only about one-third of the lyrics make any sense, which means it\u2019s probably a song about being lost, or at least away (phones\u2013 check; lack of cash\u2013 check). Like the best summer flings, college road trips, Parisian honeymoons, Phoenix manage to turn romantic confusion and map-less wayfaring into a statement of independence. \u2013Andrew Gaerig<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Phoenix: \u201cLong Distance Call\u201d<\/p>\n

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Wichita \/ V2<\/p>\n

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84.<\/div>\n

Peter Bjorn and John: \u201cYoung Folks\u201d [ft. Victoria Bergsman] (2006)<\/h2>\n

Like Jonny Greenwood\u2019s electric-guitar hiccups on Radiohead\u2019s \u201cCreep\u201d, the insidious whistled melody of Peter Bjorn and John\u2019s \u201cYoung Folks\u201d was an unintentional, rough-draft accoutrement that effectively catapulted the Swedish trio from indie-pop upstarts to international It Band. But it\u2019s what happens between all that tootin\u2019 that really set our iPods on repeat, with Peter Mor\u00e9n and guest vocalist Victoria Bergstrom (formerly of the Concretes) acting out a tentative courtship between two aloof hipsters who only seem to express any emotion during the rousing chorus, in which they effectively admit they don\u2019t have any (\u201cAll we care about is talking\/ Talking over me and you\u201d). Innumerable TV-soundtrack appearances and a Kanye endorsement would soon follow, but perhaps the most telling indicator of the song\u2019s remarkable success was that Peter Bjorn and John felt the need to react against it with a difficult follow-up album (2009\u2019s Living Thing<\/em>). \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Peter Bjorn and John: \u201cYoung Folks\u201d [ft. Victoria Bergsman]<\/p>\n

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XL \/ Astralwerks<\/p>\n

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83.<\/div>\n

Basement Jaxx: \u201cWhere\u2019s Your Head At?\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Most dance music evokes pleasure of one kind or another: movement, sex, freedom. The evil, grinning genius of \u201cWhere\u2019s Your Head At?\u201d is that it\u2019s a doctrinaire house record in some ways, but it\u2019s about a really bad trip: failure, stasis, friends getting antsy while you\u2019re stuck in a K-hole. In lieu of factory-sterile, aerodynamic electronics, there are totally septic analog synthesizers lifted from a pair of Gary Numan songs, decorated with an unusually dissonant version of Basement Jaxx\u2019s habitual vacuum-abhorring sound effects and drop-ins. The vocals are a three-dimensional array of disembodied heads screaming that something\u2019s wrong and you\u2019re letting everyone down. The song surges forward into the darkness like a flood in a tunnel (maybe the reason it made its biggest impact on the Tomb Raider<\/em> soundtrack). And it\u2019s totally hilarious in the context of its era\u2019s sleek, muscular, cheerful dance music. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Basement Jaxx: \u201cWhere\u2019s Your Head At?\u201d<\/p>\n

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Konichiwa<\/p>\n

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82.<\/div>\n

Robyn: \u201cBe Mine\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Sometime between 2005, when Robyn released \u201cBe Mine\u201d in her native Sweden, and last year, when the single finally hit charts beyond Scandinavia, somebody added an exclamation point. Unnecessary! Except to drive home something you\u2019ve probably already noticed: This utterly heartbroken song has a title phrase you see on chalky-tasting Valentine\u2019s Day candy.<\/p>\n

Exclamation or not, \u201cBe Mine\u201d is made of such paradoxes. Poised vocals express overwhelming emotion. \u201cRacing heartstrings\u201d (as Stephen Deusner said in a p4k review) adorn depressive lyrics. And the spoken-word section, starring old Whatsername\u2019s shoelaces, recounts a scene any real narrator would\u2019ve been too distraught to remember so touchingly. In indie rock, where craft is sometimes viewed with suspicion, angst makes singers sound like Conor Oberst; even Annie\u2019s \u201cHeartbeat\u201d, which opened many indie listeners\u2019 ears to Scandinavian pop in 2004, remains vocally icy and detached. \u201cBe Mine\u201d works by expertly using all the tools of commercial, instantly communicative pop\u2013 even when what\u2019s being communicated is deep personal anguish. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Robyn: \u201cBe Mine\u201d<\/p>\n

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Kranky \/ 4AD<\/p>\n

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81.<\/div>\n

Deerhunter: \u201cNothing Ever Happened\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

\u201cNothing Ever Happened\u201d came at a moment when Bradford Cox seemingly spent all his time doing one of two things: compulsively writing a litany of often-great songs about the fallibility of his memory and body, and issuing public correctives for the fallibility of his big mouth. Both tendencies made Deerhunter one of the decade\u2019s most continually compelling acts, and both come to a head on \u201cNothing\u201d, easily the band\u2019s best song. As an aughts indie epic of cathartic self-loathing, the song is Deerhunter\u2019s own \u201cThe Rat\u201d, but the failure to go out and see people is the last thing on Deerhunter\u2019s mind. Cox\u2019s terrors are buried deep inside, and to the degree he\u2019s able to access them, they\u2019re released with hushed, uncomplicated passion that finds the perfect fit between Poe, post-punk, and pot. \u2013Eric Harvey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Deerhunter: \u201cNothing Ever Happened\u201d<\/p>\n

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Cash Money<\/p>\n

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80.<\/div>\n

Lil Wayne: \u201cA Milli\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

That tinkling soundtrack trill on the intro is such a great fakeout, with producer Bangladesh mocking late-decade rap\u2019s orchestral fixation before letting the insanity start. And then there it is: the bubbling mantra refrain, the eyepunch snare-hits, the ravenous bass thud. \u201cA Milli\u201d has the simplest beat this side of \u201cGrindin\u2019\u201d, but the feeling you get from it isn\u2019t spartan crunch; it\u2019s gibbering chaos. Part of it is that bent vocal sample, and part of it is Wayne himself, disappearing down rabbit hole after rabbit hole. Bangladesh later complained that Wayne didn\u2019t follow up the millionaire concept of that hammering beat, that he just freestyled the song. But that\u2019s the magic of \u201cA Milli\u201d; it sounds like a random four-minute excerpt from a freestyle that could\u2019ve gone for hours, Wayne chasing tangents until they become catchphrases. What\u2019s a goon to a goblin? Nobody even knows what that means, but there\u2019s a reason none of the hundreds of rappers who manhandled the \u201cA Milli\u201d beat on mixtape freestyles could ever equal the original. (FYI: Fabolous came closest.) \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Lil Wayne: \u201cA Milli\u201d<\/p>\n

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79.<\/div>\n

Jay-Z: \u201cIzzo (H.O.V.A.)\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

\u201cIzzo (H.O.V.A.)\u201d is essentially an autobiographical song, but the details of the lyrics are so secondary to the track\u2019s feeling of sustained triumphalism that the only thing that comes across loud and clear is the notion that Jay-Z is a force of unstoppable greatness. Self-hagiography has always been a dominant lyrical theme in rap, but the magic here is in the way a young, hungry Kanye West brings out the joy in the rapper\u2019s swagger by framing it in the context of the Jackson 5\u2019s ebullient \u201cI Want You Back\u201d and transfers his ecstatic egomania to the listener like a contact high. At the start, Hov thanks us all for showing up, because we could have been anywhere in the world. Back in late 2001 when it seemed like the Apocalypse was an imminent possibility, there could not have been a more appealing place to be than basking in the glow of this man\u2019s supreme confidence. \u2013Matthew Perpetua<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Jay-Z: \u201cIzzo (H.O.V.A.)\u201d<\/p>\n

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78.<\/div>\n

Freelance Hellraiser: \u201cA Stroke of Genius\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

The golden rule of mash-ups is the same as it was in 2002: if you can\u2019t show us something new about the source material, don\u2019t bother. It was broken a lot back then, and even more now, but Freelance Hellraiser at least set the bar high. Christina Aguilera and the Strokes find smolder in one another, Aguilera\u2019s purring sultriness transforming the ache in \u201cHard to Explain\u201d from world-weariness to frustrated desire. Impressively, the Hellraiser predicted the arc of 00s teenpop with this\u2013 its turn away from bubblegum R&B to guitar-driven confessionals. While most mash-ups read and play like gimmicks, \u201cA Stroke of Genius\u201d skips free of its origins and fits into the world of Kelly Clarkson and the Veronicas as, simply, a standout pop song. \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Freelance Hellraiser: \u201cA Stroke of Genius\u201d<\/p>\n

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Columbia<\/p>\n

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77.<\/div>\n

Three 6 Mafia: \u201cStay Fly\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

A bruising round robin about getting so high your speech sounds screwed and chopped before the remix. By 2005, everyone had heard a soul sample, but most listeners were still getting used to the profound lethargy of tracks like \u201cStill Tippin\u2019\u201d\u2013 and \u201cStay Fly\u201d had both. Tom Breihan called it a \u201ccurious departure\u201d in his review of Most Known Unknown<\/em>, but I\u2019ll dissent. True, for guys who built their reputation barking at each other over minor-key piano arpeggios and airless beats, double-time rapping over a soul sample probably sounded like a sellout. (And it sold\u2013 their first Top 20 single since forming in 1991.) But the way they flipped it\u2013 it glimmered like a knife under a streetlight; like Psycho<\/em>, luxurious without losing its edge. \u2013Mike Powell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Three 6 Mafia: \u201cStay Fly\u201d<\/p>\n

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76.<\/div>\n

Hot Chip: \u201cReady for the Floor\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s apropos that the group which put the geek back in funk better than anyone this decade would morph dancing and debate so seamlessly, and cleverly. On the \u201cdo it\u201d front, \u201cReady for the Floor\u201d is the best paean to shaking ass-as-shyness shedding since Marvin Gaye\u2019s \u201cGot to Give It Up\u201d. It\u2019s almost as funky and twice as nerdy, to boot. From the \u201csay it\u201d perspective, \u201cReady\u201d offers a hand to take the lead in conversation, giving the impression that something important needs to see daylight. The lyrical sentiment might be purposefully illusory, but combine it with that wobbly rhythm and sour synth, and there\u2019s no mistaking that \u201cReady\u201d is twerpy, charming, intelligent, and irresistible. \u2013Eric Harvey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Hot Chip: \u201cReady for the Floor\u201d<\/p>\n

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75.<\/div>\n

Aaliyah: \u201cTry Again\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Timbaland\u2019s late-90s work with Aaliyah helped usher in an era of R&B singles as modernist pop events\u2013 \u201cTry Again\u201d has a claim to be its peak. At the time Timbaland\u2019s use of acid house\u2019s signature 303 bassline sound caught the attention: a decade on what strikes me is how well it suits the song, and its singer. Aaliyah\u2019s great necessary quality as Timbaland\u2019s muse and chief interpreter was poise, the ability to deal nervelessly with whatever fresh unlikeliness he conjured. This lack of showiness led some to dismiss her as bland\u2013 with hindsight what she had was mystique. Here the 303 dances around her, dramatizing her hinted come-ons, becoming the itch under her lover\u2019s skin. \u201cI might be shy on the first date\u2013 what about the next date?\u201d And then suddenly, no more next dates. \u201cTry Again\u201d stands as a reminder of R&B\u2019s lost possibilities\u2013 a snakier, subtler take on the decade\u2019s defining pop form, and a singer who might have been our best guide to its nuances. \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Aaliyah: \u201cTry Again\u201d<\/p>\n

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Mute<\/p>\n

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74.<\/div>\n

The Knife: \u201cSilent Shout\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

There are few things more satisfying for a music lover than witnessing an artist making the leap from promise and scattershot potential to full-bore, concentrated vision. Rarely has the statement \u201cWe are done fucking around\u201d been made as unmistakably as the Knife managed on the opening title track from 2006\u2019s Silent Shout<\/em>. Joining the likes of Radiohead\u2019s \u201cEverything in Its Right Place\u201d and Liars\u2019 \u201cBroken Witch\u201d, it\u2019s an album opener that boldly marks a shift from what the artist may have made or meant before. There\u2019s no hook or release here, no foothold to reassure you everything\u2019s going to be all right, just five minutes of ominous vocal intonations and icy synth. It\u2019s the sound of the Knife staring into the abyss and making sure you know full well there\u2019s no turning back. \u2013Joshua Love<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Knife: \u201cSilent Shout\u201d<\/p>\n

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FatCat<\/p>\n

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73.<\/div>\n

Animal Collective: \u201cGrass\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

\u201cGrass\u201d was a staple of Animal Collective shows long before it got encoded onto Feels<\/em>. Live, the band would drift into it subtly\u2013 you sometimes couldn\u2019t recognize it until the chorus hit, as Avey Tare chanted along to Panda Bear\u2019s drum crashes. On record, the track\u2019s growth is clearer, merging tribal rhythms, sprinkling guitars, and electronic debris into a cloud-shaking prayer. But \u201cGrass\u201d is primarily an Avey showcase. His wandering vocal style makes arrhythmic polysyllables, off-beat sing-song, and simian screech all sound sublimely musical. Animal Collective aren\u2019t the first to turn lung-tearing screams into a catchy chorus, but nobody has made it seem so natural, even inevitable. And the way the circus-like sound of \u201cGrass\u201d rises around Avey like fast-sprouting foliage in a high-speed jungle, shrieking to this rain-dance is really his only option. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Animal Collective: \u201cGrass\u201d<\/p>\n

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72.<\/div>\n

The Killers: \u201cMr. Brightside\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

In the decadent, Moulin Rouge<\/em>-inspired, ham-a-lot video for \u201cMr. Brightside\u201d, Brandon Flowers and Eric Roberts battle for the love of a ghostly courtesan by playing a game of… checkers. Not chess. Not poker. Not, like, a pistol duel\u2013 checkers! Is there a less sophisticated and\/or consequential way to settle a score? (Naturally, Flowers eventually flips the board in disgust, ending the brief showdown.) But this band of Vegas showboats are at their best playing to the masses and letting their flamboyant flags fly. Merging Duran Duran makeup, New Order hi-hats, and Bruce Springsteen-ian grandiosity, they gave rock fans a non-geriatric arena-ready alternative to the world\u2019s Nickelbacks this decade, and for that we owe them thanks. Custom fit for a generation weaned on Shakespeare Lite farces like \u201cThe O.C.\u201d, the Killers blew up everyday dramas\u2013 jealousy! betrayal! heartbreak!\u2013 into Gone With the Wind<\/em>-style epics. Rampant melodrama is their BFF. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Killers: \u201cMr. Brightside\u201d<\/p>\n

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71.<\/div>\n

Kanye West: \u201cGone\u201d [ft. Consequence and Cam\u2019ron] (2005)<\/h2>\n

There\u2019s something perverse about jacking Otis Redding\u2019s short, spare \u201cIt\u2019s Too Late\u201d as the backbone for \u201cGone\u201d. Arriving late on Late Registration<\/em>, the sample beams in like a ray of sunlight on a mostly baroque album. But it\u2019s just a set-up for this swelling peak of sonic pomp. Featuring the most insistent and insinuating orchestral Jon Brion composition on an album full of \u2019em, Kanye cackles at his own grandeur by throwing Cam\u2019Ron\u2013 at the height of his asshole savant powers\u2013 right in the thick of it. Cam\u2019s verse, not so much a lyrical feat as it is a bit of aural hopscotch (\u201cBloop bloop\u201d \u201cWhoop\u201d \u201cPoof poof\u201d), is actually an understated moment. After an adequate Consequence verse, \u201cGone\u201d floats off into nearly a minute of Phillip Glass-ian stabs before a spitting-mad Ye leaps back in: \u201cAhmmm\/ Ahead of my time\/ Sometimes years out.\u201d Self-referential, aggressive, funny; it\u2019s one of his best verses ever on one of his finest songs. \u2013Sean Fennessey<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Kanye West: \u201cGone\u201d [ft. Consequence and Cam\u2019ron]<\/p>\n

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Domino<\/p>\n

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70.<\/div>\n

Junior Boys: \u201cIn the Morning\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

The Junior Boys (with or without help from members of Mouse on Mars) are masters at infusing their glistening dance music with an alluring hesitance and awkwardness. Usually the heavy lifting to that end is accomplished mostly by Jeremy Greenspan\u2019s hushed vocals eliding the gaps where the music reconsiders itself. On \u201cIn the Morning\u201d, thought, there\u2019s another human element at play\u2013 the percussive sound of a voice gasping \u201coohs\u201d and \u201cahhs,\u201d like someone singing Michael Jackson ad-libs to themselves. The Boys take these breaths and gasps and turn them into a human hi-hat, merging it perfectly with the backing track\u2019s glistening synth arpeggios. It\u2019s just another example of the group\u2019s gift of synthesis, but just because they\u2019ve done it before doesn\u2019t make it any less impressive. \u2013David Raposa<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Junior Boys: \u201cIn the Morning\u201d<\/p>\n

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Rough Trade<\/p>\n

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69.<\/div>\n

Arcade Fire: \u201cRebellion (Lies)\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

On an album of unabashed melodrama, \u201cRebellion (Lies)\u201d surges just a little harder and higher than the rest. It\u2019s built like a perpetual motion machine, from the backing vocals that egg Win Butler on through the chorus with a chant of \u201cLies! Lies!\u201d to the insistent piano to the strings that claw at the guitar in the final push to the sudden ending. It\u2019s like life, vital and flowing right up until the moment it\u2019s over. Butler tries to sort out what he believes about death and dreams from what he\u2019s been told and decides dreams are the better escape: \u201cCome on, baby, in our dreams\/ We can live on misbehavior.\u201d More than that, \u201cRebellion\u201d captures the confusion of unlearning all the things you know are wrong, and does in a way you can sing along to. \u2013Joe Tangari<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Arcade Fire: \u201cRebellion (Lies)\u201d<\/p>\n

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Aftermath<\/p>\n

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68.<\/div>\n

Dr. Dre: \u201cForgot About Dre\u201d [ft. Eminem] (2000)<\/h2>\n

Ostensibly a retort to the baby piranhas nipping at his heels on the barely breathing Death Row label, \u201cForgot About Dre\u201d actually has far less to do with remembering Andre Young than it does reconsidering him. Seven full years since his last proper solo album, 2001<\/em> was an overhaul\u2013 more Technotronic than TEC-9, Dre became a programming fiend utilizing tensile synths, razor\u2019s edge keyboard sounds, and sputtering drums. The rigidity is a perfect complement to the frenetic but deeply in-control heart of the song: an emerging Eminem. Em wrote every word of this song, performs one breathless verse and the chorus. His idolatry and pitched-up insanity is on display in equal measure. \u201cSo fuck y\u2019all, all of y\u2019all\/ If y\u2019all don\u2019t like me, blow me,\u201d Dre blurts. Hardly Marshall Mathers\u2019 most elegant moment as a writer, but it is an attuned response. Dre is an artist, but he\u2019s never been more than vocal muscle. He saves the grace for the track. \u2013Sean Fennessey<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Dr. Dre: \u201cForgot About Dre\u201d [ft. Eminem]<\/p>\n

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67.<\/div>\n

Band of Horses: \u201cThe Funeral\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

One of the biggest trends of the last nine years has been the rise and growing acceptability of licensing as a means of making money in a dying industry. Ten years ago you wouldn\u2019t have caught a Sub Pop band in a car commercial, but \u201cThe Funeral\u201d has not only scored spots for the Ford Edge, but also a controversial internet-only ad for Wal-Mart\u2013 you may have also heard it on a bunch of TV shows. It\u2019s no surprise that music supervisors would be interested in this track from Band of Horses\u2019 2006 debut. With its death-haunted lyrics delivered by Ben Bridwell\u2019s sensitively tremulous tenor and a dramatically build that crescendos from the vaporous \u201coohs\u201d and gentle guitar arpeggios of its opening to the driving guitar chug of its explosive chorus, it makes for an undoubtedly sweeping soundtrack. \u2013Rebecca Raber<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Band of Horses: \u201cThe Funeral\u201d<\/p>\n

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Bella Union<\/p>\n

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66.<\/div>\n

Fleet Foxes: \u201cWhite Winter Hymnal\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

Fleet Foxes\u2019 backwoods Beach Boys debut was nearly flawless\u2013 it was American folk music cast to wander in a deep, twisting cavern of reverb, and there it found moments of uncommon beauty. \u201cWhite Winter Hymnal\u201d repeats the same lyrics and verse melody three times, sung in rich harmony, and that would be satisfying enough given that power of said verse. They aren\u2019t content to merely hypnotize you, though, creating a dynamic series of instrumental arrangements that cast it in a new light each time. The simple, impressionistic lyric explodes in a stunning burst of color and violence on its final line: \u201cAnd Michael you would fall and turn the white snow red as strawberries in summertime.\u201d The wordless answering vocal and big, twangy guitar that erupt after the verses are just as astonishing, their immensity throwing the song\u2019s intimate imagery into sharp relief. This is one enormous little song. \u2013Joe Tangari<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Fleet Foxes: \u201cWhite Winter Hymnal\u201d<\/p>\n

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65.<\/div>\n

Justin Timberlake: \u201cCry Me a River\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Even with that greasy-sponge hair, it was easy to see he was best dancer-singer-talent from the 1990s boy band glut. Still, it was hard to picture the pipsqueak in the too-tight t-shirt from the \u201cTearin\u2019 Up My Heart\u201d video somehow flowering into the closest thing to a next Michael Jackson (sorry, Usher). In order to bury his Mousekateer past, Justin needed to get a little dangerous. Mix in a hip-hop producer at the a-ha! moment of his pop maturation, a tabloid-ready scandal, and sleek stalker video and \u201cBye Bye Bye\u201d says so long with the immediate snap of a Timbaland snare.<\/p>\n

Justin\u2019s \u201cBillie Jean\u201d stabs backs instead of crying wolf, but the parallel remains\u2013 like Michael, Timberlake turns black to white, turning off his waterworks with hopes of starting a flood on her end. Meanwhile, Timbaland attacks his big pop break with everything he knows, along with a couple newbies: moody, near-baroque lines, syncopated mouth percussion, vengeful choir, cawing seagulls. The biggest can sometimes be the best, too. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Justin Timberlake: \u201cCry Me a River\u201d<\/p>\n

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64.<\/div>\n

Interpol: \u201cObstacle 1\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Is it any wonder these guys took to numbering their obstacles? They certainly had enough going against them when they shot to indie notoriety in summer 2002: the band members\u2019 lack of personality, those inscrutably awkward lyrics. And has any widely beloved indie act in recent memory seemed so painfully self-aware and shamelessly calculated? Yet there was no denying the galvanizing might of Turn on the Bright Lights<\/em>, and this early knockout from the record remains the signature distillation of Interpol\u2019s well-apportioned strengths, as if urgency + hook + tempo change = all you\u2019ll ever need to craft the perfect little rock song. Even if we really have no clue why somebody\u2019s repeatedly stabbing themselves in the neck, we can certainly hear the blood pulsing through this thing. \u2013Matthew Solarski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Interpol: \u201cObstacle 1\u201d<\/p>\n

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63.<\/div>\n

The Hold Steady: \u201cStuck Between Stations\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s weird enough that Jack Kerouac\u2019s On the Road<\/em> narrator Sal Paradise winds up in an E Street Band-style rave-up, but poet John Berryman? And we spend half the song inside his head as he stands on a bridge contemplating suicide? What kind of party music is this? The Hold Steady kind, where sharp wit and lyrical depth come in fist-pumping, shout-along anthems. With its crunchy power chords and sharp turnaround into the chorus, \u201cStuck Between Stations\u201d would have been a great song even if it wound up being about driving around and having a mindless good time, like so many classic rock songs before it. But Craig Finn upped the ante with words about his favorite subject\u2013 that moment when the fall-back patterns of youth start to fail and escapist benders are becoming too much to bear\u2013 and came up with an unlikely monument to confusion and dislocation. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Hold Steady: \u201cStuck Between Stations\u201d<\/p>\n

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62.<\/div>\n

The Shins: \u201cNew Slang\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

\u201cNew Slang\u201d was the eerie, indelible little tune that nonchalantly breezed its way into 2000s-era indie rock\u2019s version of Reality Bites<\/em>; an ambling, wayward thing that never insisted upon itself but also refuses to leave your consciousness. As far as \u201cbreakthrough hits\u201d go, it\u2019s a pretty modest affair, a sighing shrug of a song built on a campfire strum and some floating signifiers that could almost pass for Murmur<\/em>-era R.E.M.: \u201cDance like the king of the eyesores\u201d; \u201cDawn breaks like a bull through a hall.\u201d And that\u2019s not even touching on that \u201cdirt in your fries\u201d line, which, as far too many people delightedly pointed out, made a rather odd fit for a McDonald\u2019s ad. But that cognitive dissonance was the other legacy of \u201cNew Slang\u201d: An agoraphobic bedroom-pop gem that shuffled its way onto a stage larger than anyone imagined possible, \u201cNew Slang\u201d paved the way for Norah, Nick, Juno, and the many lovely, odd, and grating mainstream\/indie pairings to come. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Shins: \u201cNew Slang\u201d<\/p>\n

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61.<\/div>\n

Wilco: \u201cJesus, Etc.\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

For all the talk of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot<\/em>\u2019s noisy ambiance, one of its most memorable cuts lacks any scree. The smoky backroom jazz of \u201cJesus, Etc.\u201d, violin swells conjuring late-night embers of a campfire fiddle jam, sees Wilco branching from careerist jangle to a complex view of America and Americana. Reprise execs famously derided the resulting Yankee Hotel Foxtrot<\/em> for lacking a viable single; Wilco ended up fleeing the label, YHF<\/em> masters in hand, for Warner\u2019s more niche Nonesuch imprint. Hindsight may be 20\/20, but Reprise\u2019s myopia is doubly startling: \u201cHeavy Metal Drummer\u201d is the obvious throwback summertime jam, evoking Linklater\u2019s idyllic Dazed and Confused<\/em>, but \u201cJesus Etc.\u201d is its wizened brother, meditating on last cigarettes amidst stabs of pedal steel and eerily dovetailing with 9\/11 (\u201cTall buildings shake\u201d, \u201cskyscrapers are scrapin\u2019 together\u201d). \u2013Mike Orme<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Wilco: \u201cJesus, Etc.\u201d<\/p>\n

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60.<\/div>\n

Ghostface Killah: \u201cNutmeg\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Let\u2019s get the less-obvious highlights out of the way first: The beat, provided by the comparatively unknown Arthur \u201cBlack Moes-Art\u201d Wilson, does an amazing transformative job on Eddie Holman\u2019s weepy 1977 break-up slow jam \u201cIt\u2019s Over\u201d, turning it into the gleaming, amped-up entrance theme of an undefeated world champion. And the RZA\u2019s in top form on his guest verse, simultaneously at his most funny, bizarre, and awe-inspiring (\u201cSnap the wing off of bats, my battleaxe tongue hacks tracks\/ Once the ball drop, I\u2019m\u2019a snatch ten jacks\u201d). But it\u2019s Tony Starks\u2019 world here, and he welcomes you to it with head-spinning free associations, metaphors inside metaphors, furious between-verse rants, and a flow so fluently cool it completely distracts you from the possibility that you\u2019re not entirely sure what lines like \u201cspiced out Calvin Coolidge, loungin\u2019 with seven duelers\u201d or \u201cHit Poughkeepsie crispy chicken verbs throw up a stone richie\u201d mean. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Ghostface Killah: \u201cNutmeg\u201d<\/p>\n

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59.<\/div>\n

Radiohead: \u201cPyramid Song\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Anything but effete following the immortal one-two of OK Computer<\/em> and Kid A<\/em>, Radiohead returned with a record of Kid A<\/em> session cuts that included this, an absolutely singular track in a catalog with no shortage of standouts. \u201cPyramid Song\u201d is at once a travelers\u2019 song for those skirting the outer reaches of consciousness (note the aquatic imagery), a nostalgic ode to a dystopian future (\u201castral cars\u201d), and the slurred, drunken waltz of the damned (that piano). One can\u2019t help but marvel at how the boys\u2019 talents come together on this one, too; budding composer Jonny Greenwood\u2019s orchestral arrangement is impeccable, Nigel Godrich\u2019s sonic touches as producer have seldom been so essential, and Phil Selway\u2019s drumming practically conjures a mist of eerie intrigue around the whole thing. Perhaps most of all, \u201cPyramid Song\u201d testifies that no matter how far-flung Thom Yorke\u2019s state of feeling, Radiohead are ever capable of bringing us to feel it too. \u2013Matthew Solarski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Radiohead: \u201cPyramid Song\u201d<\/p>\n

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58.<\/div>\n

The White Stripes: \u201cFell in Love With a Girl\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Remember when the White Stripes got lumped in with hype magnets like the Hives and the Vines? It seemed absurd enough at the time, but revisit the Stripes\u2019 pulse-quickening breakthrough \u201cFell in Love With a Girl\u201d and you may wonder why any other band got hyped. With Jack White\u2019s stiffening howl, Meg White\u2019s simple beat, and a woo-hoo chorus copped nicely from the Pretenders\u2019 \u201cMiddle of the Road\u201d, \u201cFell in Love\u201d is such well-formulated garage-pop that it could sound sterile in lesser hands. But White\u2019s white-hot guitar gives the song such blinding speed, it almost lobotomizes him. \u201cThe two sides of my brain need to have a meeting,\u201d he yelps convincingly. Michel Gondry\u2019s video, which transformed Jack and Meg into blurry Lego figures, caught that manic drive. It lasts less than two minutes, but its hook remains a brain-sticker eight years later. \u2013Marc Masters<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The White Stripes: \u201cFell in Love With a Girl\u201d<\/p>\n

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57.<\/div>\n

TV on the Radio: \u201cWolf Like Me\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

The first time most of us heard “Wolf Like Me”, it was the leadoff track on an incorrectly sequenced version of Return to Cookie Mountain<\/em> that leaked months in advance of its street date. In that context, it was stunning\u2013 it churned on a nasty bassline, mid-coitus howling, and aggressively shredded guitars, announcing TVOTR as, above all, a rock band, even a sexually charged one. Once “Wolf Like Me” got positioned in the middle of the official version of Return to Cookie Mountain<\/em>, it lost none of its impact\u2013 even if its musical content is easily understood, the lyrics made their intent all the more overt\u2013 “Baby doll, I recognize\/ You\u2019re a hideous thing inside.” Sometimes the smartest guy in the room just wants to fuck. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> TV on the Radio: \u201cWolf Like Me\u201d<\/p>\n

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56.<\/div>\n

Dizzee Rascal: \u201cI Luv U\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

\u201cI love you,\u201d a sampled voice announces blandly. It\u2019s clear that things aren\u2019t what they seem, but nothing can prepare for the sudden, abrasive intrusion of pounding kick drums and whipcrack snares, and least of all Dizzee\u2019s voice, overwhelmed and overwhelming. Dizzee remains the greatest MC to emerge from the UK\u2019s grime scene, but he never sounded as good again as on this opening salvo, his throaty flow clotted with outrage and wounded pride. Dizzee was also grime\u2019s greatest dramatist, knowing that a battle of the sexes has to sound like actual warfare to cut through. The music\u2019s sharp angles and trudging grind suggest romance shorn of all its niceties and most of its pleasure. But the act of being more brutally callous than anyone else delivers its own singular and compelling satisfaction. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Dizzee Rascal: \u201cI Luv U\u201d<\/p>\n

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55.<\/div>\n

Outkast: \u201cMs. Jackson\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

By 2001, you either recognized the visionary virtuosity of Outkast, or you didn\u2019t listen to a lick of hip-hop. With the release of \u201cMs. Jackson\u201d, the second single from the game-changing Stankonia<\/em>, the numbers in that latter category shrank considerably as everyone and their mama (and mama\u2019s mama) embraced the duo\u2019s heartfelt address to disappointed mothers, wives, and lovers. Not that Dre and Big Boi tackled post-break-up complications lying down\u2013 the track deceptively but deftly bobbles cold defensiveness\u2013 but the balance worked perfectly, earning the group its first #1 single. \u2013Joshua Klein<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Outkast: \u201cMs. Jackson\u201d<\/p>\n

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54.<\/div>\n

Missy Elliott: \u201cWork It\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

Yes, there\u2019s a beat\u2013 a dumbfounding one, so stripped-down and fluid it\u2019s practically gestural, so good you say blah blah blah\u2013 and the samples that bookend it (Rock Master Scott at the beginning, Run-D.M.C. at the end) point out just how much more graceful technology has made hip-hop in 20 years. But this is Missy\u2019s show as both a writer and a rapper, and she\u2019s got so much juice she can literally reverse the flow of time<\/em>. She can end nearly every line with an oh-ah rhyme (half of which are words she made up herself), she can ditch rhymes altogether for an even funnier effect (of course \u201cnails done\u201d matches \u201chair did\u201d!), and she can totally grind on you and play it off as a giggle\u2013 note that she\u2019s not comparing herself to Halle Berry but to \u201ca Halle Berry poster.\u201d There aren\u2019t many more bluntly sexual songs that have turned into hits this elephantine; maybe it slid by because there aren\u2019t many songs that are anywhere near this funny about sex. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Missy Elliott: \u201cWork It\u201d<\/p>\n

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53.<\/div>\n

The Strokes: \u201cSomeday\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Rock fans weren\u2019t exactly fiending for recycled CBGB riffs when the Strokes stumbled upon the popular consciousness in 2001. What they were craving, I think, was someone to put the selfishness, sloppiness, and sex back into rock after a decade of PC causes, benefits, and self-congratulating communities. The placement of \u201cSomeday\u201d as the top Strokes song on our list befits the fact that it\u2019s possibly the best distillation of lead singer Julian Casablancas\u2019 irresistible brand of insouciant asshole charm. Musically no less springy and precise than any chart-pop pleasure, \u201cSomeday\u201d pins its bad-news reputation on Casablancas\u2019 half-bored roar (\u201cI ain\u2019t wastin\u2019 no more TIME!\u201d) and especially on dickishly shrugging asides like \u201cAlone we stand, together we fall apart\u201d and \u201cMy ex says I\u2019m lacking in depth.\u201d Who could resist? \u2013Joshua Love<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Strokes: \u201cSomeday\u201d<\/p>\n

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52.<\/div>\n

Kanye West: \u201cFlashing Lights\u201d [ft. Dwele] (2007)<\/h2>\n

Given: \u201cStronger\u201d came through with the head-smacking, hip-house obviousness. But, if you\u2019re gunning for Superstar First Class like Kanye, obviousness isn\u2019t such a bad strategy. That said, \u201cFlashing Lights\u201d slid past knee jerk \u201csampling\u201d and blaring positivity, giving us a Euroclub-ready beat that wasn\u2019t \u201cKanye doing Daft Punk\u201d as much as it was \u201cKanye doing Kanye.\u201d Alongside the raving pulse are Late Registration<\/em> strings, prime-cut post-fame paranoia, and a wounded psyche that would later come into full bloom on 808s and Heartbreak<\/em>.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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\u201cYou on the other side of the glass of my memory\u2019s museum,\u201d he raps. \u201cI\u2019m just saying, Hey Mona Lisa, come home\u2013 you know you can\u2019t Rome without Caesar.\u201d It\u2019s classic Kanye\u2013 self-possessed, superfluously art-ridden, probably too clever by half. In Kanye\u2019s post-everything museum, da Vinci sidles up next to a bust of Julius; a Karen O-repping blog post follows one dedicated to 10-ft. tall \u201cChewing Gum Sculptures\u201d; Parisian house mingles with stadium hip-hop. \u201cBut what do I know?\u201d goes the hook, pop-pushing curiosity still intact. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kanye West: \u201cFlashing Lights\u201d [ft. Dwele]<\/p>\n

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51.<\/div>\n

Jay-Z: \u201cTakeover\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Remember when September 11, 2001 was merely shaping up to be a pretty shitty day for Mobb Deep and Nas? But even if \u201cTakeover\u201d could rid itself of the unfortunate historical heft of The Blueprint<\/em>\u2019s release date (it doesn\u2019t help that Jay-Z would rap \u201cI dropped the same day as the Towers\u201d in subsequent freestyles), it would still remain this decade\u2019s moment in New York hip-hop where you simply couldn\u2019t be an impartial bystander.<\/p>\n

There have been diss tracks that have been more personal, more vicious, hell, even more effective\u2013 Nas got a bigger career boost out of his response, the simplistic and homophobic \u201cEther\u201d, which inexplicably (well, not really) was declared the winner by internet scorekeepers who would soon use its title as a slang for smiting one\u2019s enemies at all costs. But there\u2019s never been a better diss song<\/em>: Kanye West\u2019s \u201cFive to One\u201d flip turned Jim Morrison\u2019s Dionysus into Hercules while Jay calmly doled out dismissals that were all the more perfect for their brevity and focus\u2013 \u201ca wise man told me don\u2019t argue with fools\u2026\u201d; \u201cI sold what your whole album sold in my first week\u201d; \u201cyou only get half a bar\u2026\u201d That entire third verse. As is the case with so many other spats in real life, Jay-Z and Nas would eventually bury the hatchet in the name of good business, but listen to \u201cTakeover\u201d if you\u2019re ever confused about who\u2019s wearing the pants: Regardless of Jigga\u2019s recent output, \u201cTakeover\u201d will always beam with the righteousness one can only have when they\u2019re clearly playing the upper hand. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Jay-Z: \u201cTakeover\u201d<\/p>\n

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50.<\/div>\n

Basement Jaxx: \u201cRomeo\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

A criticism you sometimes hear about Basement Jaxx tracks is that they\u2019re too busy. Not unfair\u2013 except that leaves out how hyperactivity can inflate a fine song into something fantastic. Imagine a version of \u201cRomeo\u201d played totally straight\u2013 a post-Winehouse retro-soul belter. It wouldn\u2019t be too bad, but it wouldn\u2019t be on this list. \u201cRomeo\u201d needs its touches of mixing desk dementia: The way the stomped emphases at the end of Kele Le Roc\u2019s lines set off pinball-combo beats all around your earspace; the way the middle eight dissolves into swoon and flutter; the husky work-gang chants. And so when Le Roc cuts loose it doesn\u2019t sound stagey\u2013 more a wholly understandable reaction to all the craziness and tension the Jaxx are pumping in. Frustration has rarely sounded so gleeful. \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Basement Jaxx: \u201cRomeo\u201d<\/p>\n

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49.<\/div>\n

Sufjan Stevens: \u201cChicago\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

The genius of Illinois<\/em> was the way Sufjan made grand, epic-scale orch-pop out of local-color minutia: Historical footnotes, backwater towns, serial killer biography. But \u201cChicago\u201d is the moment where all that goes out the window, where eyes turn skyward. \u201cChicago\u201d is Sufjan\u2019s \u201cClocks\u201d, his \u201cSuch Great Heights\u201d\u2013 the song that sounds custom-built to end up in the trailers for indie romantic comedies forevermore. The dizzying melody is all longing, and Stevens builds it up perfectly, piling on the horns and strings and choral voices before letting it repeat about 50 times because he knows we aren\u2019t getting sick of it anytime soon. It\u2019s not an indie pop song. It\u2019s a pop song, pure and simple, and a great one. \u2013Tom Breihan<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sufjan Stevens: \u201cChicago\u201d<\/p>\n

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48.<\/div>\n

Panda Bear: \u201cBro\u2019s\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

Animal Collective\u2019s sprawling catalog has often been defined by the group\u2019s restless spirit and urge to reach new ground. But there is a more meditative and tranquil pace to Person Pitch<\/em>, the third solo album from AC\u2019s Panda Bear (Noah Lennox), and nowhere is this more evident than on the album\u2019s beatific 12-minute epic \u201cBro\u2019s\u201d. Constructed of voice and intricately layered samples, \u201cBro\u2019s\u201d can feel like a single, prolonged exhalation, as Lennox cycles through the song\u2019s simple looped patterns with a light but deliberate touch. Though it makes use of repetition, the track\u2019s landscape is anything but static: Snatches of instruments, sound effects, and voices arrive then disappear, while Lennox\u2019s lyrics gently ruminate on brotherhood and friendship. Above all, \u201cBro\u2019s\u201d displays an exquisite sense of patience, with Lennox constantly turning up new surprises as he lets his various loops echo back onto themselves, as though determined to leave no possible corner of this song unbrightened. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Panda Bear: \u201cBro\u2019s\u201d<\/p>\n

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47.<\/div>\n

Burial: \u201cArchangel\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

Burial works like an alchemist on \u201cArchangel\u201d, converting scuffed, accidental rumble into a lithe, swinging 2-step pattern; an instantly nostalgic crackle suggests a worn stylus carving golden filigree out of a favorite record\u2019s ground-down grooves. All that might have resulted in sullen murk were it not for the magic Burial works upon his vocal samples. Detuning a set of R&B a cappellas into weird, warbly chirps, Burial appropriates other singers\u2019 words (\u201cLoving you… holding you… kissing you\u201d) to fit to his own tune. All the warping and collaging turns the song\u2019s sentimentalism almost desperate, as though whatever the artist had to express were too much for a \u201creal\u201d voice to bear. The masked pathos of the gesture only helped confirm the myth around the then-anonymous Burial, but his coming out hasn\u2019t robbed anything from this gorgeous, unforgettable song, which keeps its secrets hidden in cryptic rhythms and molten glissandi. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Burial: \u201cArchangel\u201d<\/p>\n

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46.<\/div>\n

Robyn: \u201cWith Every Heartbeat\u201d [ft. Kleerup] (2007)<\/h2>\n

Like Wilco\u2019s *Yankee Hotel Foxtrot *success, Robyn\u2019s triumph of personal artistic vision over major-label shortsightedness is one of the great David vs. Goliath music-industry stories of the decade. And it\u2019s poetic justice that \u201cWith Every Heartbeat\u201d, the singer\u2019s futuristic electro-pop collaboration with producer and fellow Swede Andreas Kleerup, would become her most successful song to date, eventually reaching #1 on the UK singles chart in 2007. It\u2019s easy to see why people took to it. \u201cWith Every Heartbeat\u201d is the best kind of pop hit\u2013 one with perspective-broadening ability but catchy enough for anyone to enjoy. And for a song ostensibly about pain and heartbreak, the thing\u2019s downright triumphant in the end. Credit Kleerup\u2019s throbbing arrangement\u2013 that synth build!\u2013 which pulsates beneath Robyn\u2019s melancholic coos before intensifying into its hair-raising climax. Robyn may be talking breakups here, but she isn\u2019t moping, and that\u2019s partly because the song\u2019s too vigorous to allow for it. \u2013Joe Colly<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Robyn: \u201cWith Every Heartbeat\u201d [ft. Kleerup]<\/p>\n

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45.<\/div>\n

Hot Chip: \u201cOver and Over\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

\u201cOver and Over\u201d is Hot Chip\u2019s best \u201cfuck you.\u201d Vocalist Alexis Taylor has a soft tenor that, on singles like \u201cReady for the Floor\u201d and \u201cBoy From School\u201d, sounds tender at best; at worst, he sounds like a pushover. Not here. \u201cOver and Over\u201d, and its indispensable, brilliant video, plays like a series of dares: \u201cYou want laid back? I\u2019ll give you laid back. You want special effects? Here\u2019s the sloppiest green screen job ever.\u201d Over the song\u2019s wobbly two-step and busted guitars, Taylor and co-vocalist\u2019s Joe Goddard sing it mild, yes, but with a dry wit. By the time Hot Chip get to the song\u2019s spell-along countdown, you crave the guitar hook, then the synth organ hook, then the chorus again, though they cruelly withhold the latter, daring you to play it over and over. \u2013Jessica Suarez<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Hot Chip: \u201cOver and Over\u201d<\/p>\n

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44.<\/div>\n

Franz Ferdinand: \u201cTake Me Out\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Thanks to incessant cheerleading on the part of the established rock press, retro garage-punk emerged as the predominant strain of post-millennial rock music in 2001. But partway through the decade, aspiring buzz bands realized that, down on the disco floor, they could really make their profits\u2013 and that paradigm shift can be scientifically pinpointed to the 55-second mark of Franz Ferdinand\u2019s 2004 breakthrough single. After a tense build-up\u2013 wherein Alex Kapranos\u2019 lays out the song\u2019s desire-as-death theme\u2013 \u201cTake Me Out\u201d sounds ready to blast off; instead, Franz pull an aesthetic 180 and slow it down into a militaristic, libidinous funk stomp\u2013 and even after five years of perpetual play at student discos around the world, that change-up still startles. Franz Ferdinand famously formed to create \u201cmusic for girls to dance to,\u201d but the Scottish band\u2019s most successful U.S. single to date can be attributed to the fact that their definition of dance music was still heavy enough to lure in those girls\u2019 jock boyfriends. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Franz Ferdinand: \u201cTake Me Out\u201d<\/p>\n

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43.<\/div>\n

UGK: \u201cInt\u2019l Players Anthem (I Choose You)\u201d [ft. Outkast] (2007)<\/h2>\n

Plenty of other rappers have availed themselves of Willie Hutch\u2019s \u201cI Choose You\u201d before UGK and OutKast. 50 Cent, for instance, and Project Pat. Even Cam\u2019ron had a go. But none of those matter now. From the second Andr\u00e9 3000 cues up the heavenly choir of Hutch\u2019s original with a pregnant \u201cSo…,\u201d Project Pat\u2019s \u201cI Choose You\u201d becomes about as relevant as Black Moon\u2019s \u201cStay Real\u201d, which has the misfortune of sharing its sample source with Jay-Z\u2019s \u201cP.S.A.\u201d Andr\u00e9\u2019s nervous-groom routine on the opening verse\u2013 \u201cspaceships don\u2019t come equipped with rearview mirrors,\u201d he tells himself, and his giddy butterflies are practically audible\u2013 was one of rap\u2019s most winning moments this decade, and that\u2019s before Pimp C stomps all over the track and Big Boi offers his indelible chopped-and-screwed \u201cask, ask Paul McCartney.\u201d Other rappers relied on the majesty of Hutch\u2019s plush soul choir to elevate their shit-talk: UGK and OutKast, in their last moment together before the death of Pimp C, actually make Willie sound more<\/em> heavenly. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> UGK: \u201cInt\u2019l Players Anthem (I Choose You)\u201d [ft. Outkast]<\/p>\n

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42.<\/div>\n

Battles: \u201cAtlas\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

I\u2019ve heard \u201cAtlas\u201d softly criticized as being more muscle than heart. Beyond the fact that the heart is a muscle, well, that\u2019s a completely reasonable position to hold. When Tyondai Braxton\u2019s cracked whinny rises at an impossible angle over what could initially be confused for any number of shuffle-based beats (\u201cThe Beautiful People\u201d, \u201cRock and Roll Part 2\u201d) it\u2019s like a clarion call to exhibit the sort of physical domination few of us ever get to experience in our cubicle-bound lives.<\/p>\n

\u201cAtlas\u201d is not a song you put on a mixtape. It\u2019s a song you use when you\u2019re coming to bat in the 9th inning against a fire-throwing closer, to soundtrack an intensely focused 5 a.m. weightlifting session (guilty), to train an army as powerful and precise as John Stanier\u2019s drumming. So yes, \u201cAtlas\u201d doesn\u2019t appeal to one\u2019s emotions so much as it appeals to ideals. Upon hearing it for the first time, Battles\u2019 astonishing technical proficiency set them apart from most other bands. Two years later, you don\u2019t wonder why Battles are better than those guys, but why those other guys aren\u2019t trying to do more to catch up. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Battles: \u201cAtlas\u201d<\/p>\n

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41.<\/div>\n

TV on the Radio: \u201cStaring at the Sun\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

George Carlin said fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity. In the summer of 2003, both were happening. The U.S. had invaded Iraq, TVOTR\u2019s home city was covered in National Guard, and temperatures hit a record high. Helplessness was a kind of fever, or maybe a real fever, or SARS, or another form of loneliness, but TVOTR understood sex could purify as well as distract: \u201cBeat the skins and let the loose lips kiss you clean,\u201d they commanded. Sonically, it was a primer on what was to come from them: grinding basslines, Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone\u2019s unearthly harmonies, rhythm as pared-down and vital as a heartbeat. By the time the song reappeared on their 2004 LP, it could have soundtracked the war or served as a protest song. The birth rate went up, at least. \u201cI was a lover before this war,\u201d Adebimpe reminded us later on Return to Cookie Mountain<\/em>. We remember. \u2013Jessica Suarez<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> TV on the Radio: \u201cStaring at the Sun\u201d<\/p>\n

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40.<\/div>\n

The Avalanches: \u201cSince I Left You\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

When I found out \u201cU Can\u2019t Touch This\u201d was really \u201cSuperfreak\u201d, I was bummed. My only disappointment about the opening track from the Avalanches\u2019 sample-based magnum opus, though, was discovering the song was actually called \u201cSince I Left You\u201d. I could\u2019ve sworn that female vocalist was singing \u201csince I met you.\u201d I cheered up after I realized \u201cSince I Left You\u201d refers not to a breakup, but to an escape. This music is a travelogue to an imaginary, idyllic realm reachable only through forgotten 1960s AM pop, Latin-tinged guitars, and easy-listening schlock. While plenty of people have continued to explore the use of samples, that bacchanalian locale has been the song\u2019s most significant legacy, particularly in the work of artists from chilly Sweden: Jens Lekman, the Tough Alliance, Air France, Studio, and jj. By the way: She really was<\/em> singing \u201csince I met you.\u201d. \u2013Marc Hogan<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> The Avalanches: \u201cSince I Left You\u201d<\/p>\n

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39.<\/div>\n

Modest Mouse: \u201cFloat On\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Platinum sales. A #1 album. Magazine covers. Top 40 radio play. Kidz Bop. Why Modest Mouse? Why not a thousand other bands from backwater towns who also spent a decade schlepping across the country in beat-up vans? Only the gods of capitalism and pop know for sure, but, hell, if Pavement had written anything as straightforwardly uplifting as \u201cFloat On\u201d, maybe they would have ended up on \u201cAmerican Idol\u201d, too. For three and a half minutes, eternally vexed frontman Isaac Brock breaks through the rainclouds to pay tribute to the audacity of hope. The rhythm section marches forward like the irrepressible human spirit, the out of tune yet utterly undeniable pinprick guitar line seesaws like a rickety carousel, and the shout-along, clap-along, fist-pump-along chorus hits like a ticker-tape parade. Cars crash, money is stolen, jobs are lost\u2013 whatevs, man. We\u2019ll all float on, OK. \u2013Amy Phillips<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Modest Mouse: \u201cFloat On\u201d<\/p>\n

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38.<\/div>\n

T.I.: \u201cWhat You Know\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

It may not be possible to sound bigger than T.I. on \u201cWhat You Know\u201d. Ask T.I.; no one knows better. He spent a few years straining fruitlessly to match it and came up with ESPN-Zone theme songs (\u201cBig Shit Poppin\u2019\u201d) and “Numa Numa”-sampling self-help anthems (\u201cLive Your Life\u201d). He seems finally to have figured it out, scaling back down to the lean, hungry street cuts he made his name with. Good call. A thousand mixtape rappers have crashed on the rocks of DJ Toomp\u2019s roiling sea of a beat, but T.I. rides that wave of glorious noise with the grinning aplomb and justified self-regard of a rapper who knows he has Made the Leap, that he has stumbled upon \u201cthe moment where the rapper becomes the moment,\u201d as Chris Ryan once pithily put it. \u201cYou know about me, dog,\u201d he crows, letting loose with an insinuating \u201cyeeaaaaaahhhh\u201d that stretches out so far it starts to feel like an act of public lewdness. Rarely has a rapper\u2019s victory lap felt quite this exhilarating. \u2013Jayson Greene<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> T.I.: \u201cWhat You Know\u201d<\/p>\n

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37.<\/div>\n

Kylie Minogue: \u201cCan\u2019t Get You Out of My Head\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

How did Kylie make one of the decade\u2019s finest dance-pop anthems? By offering less: less singing, less melody, less feeling<\/em>. What\u2019s left is a buzzy, insatiable desire, an itch you can\u2019t scratch but maybe can dance out. Kylie is a diva more than singer, understanding intuitively how each coy purr, each insouciant whisper can speak to and for the lust of her audience. The point is not to want her, but to want what she wants: In the right environment, dancing to \u201cCan\u2019t Get You Out of My Head\u201d traces a shared history of hopeful flirtations, irresistible seductions, inevitable disappointments, and the helpless compulsion to repeat the cycle again. If its sleek, synthetic surfaces feel hollow, it\u2019s because fantasy is hollow, a shell for impossible expectation. \u201cJust to be there in your arms\u2026\u201d Kylie imagines, then falls silent while the beat goes on. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Kylie Minogue: \u201cCan\u2019t Get You Out of My Head\u201d<\/p>\n

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36.<\/div>\n

Sigur R\u00f3s: \u201cSvefn-G-Englar\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

Despite the fruitful decade that followed for Iceland\u2019s Sigur R\u00f3s, there\u2019s still no better introduction to the band\u2019s majesty than \u201cSvefn-G-Englar\u201d, their first single (released in 1999 in their home country) and the lead track of its worldwide entrance, \u00c1g\u00e6tis Byrjun<\/em>. The bowed guitar and billowing voice of Jonsi Birgisson create waves of sound in which steady keyboard and drum lines simply drift like tiny buoys at the mercy of a gentle ocean. But Sigur R\u00f3s soon moved on to bigger climaxes, stickier melodies, and richer textures. Listening now, \u201cSvefn-G-Englar\u201d feels mostly like a template. The questions it raised about its makers catalyzed our intrigue and inquiry are, to an extent, the same ones people continue to ask: Is that a girl singing? And is it<\/em> singing, \u201cIt\u2019s you,\u201d over and over? What language is this, anyway, and how are those nautical noises made? Can all future music be this beautiful? \u2013Grayson Currin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Sigur R\u00f3s: \u201cSvefn-G-Englar\u201d<\/p>\n

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35.<\/div>\n

Animal Collective: \u201cFireworks\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

On Strawberry Jam<\/em>, \u201cFireworks\u201d fades in from the previous track on a stuttering drum machine, giving the impression that it really has no beginning. Hearing it live, Animal Collective give the impression that it might never end. What truly stands out about \u201cFireworks\u201d, other than its endless and endlessly involving melody, is how starkly it lays out its emotions in such an honest, easily parsed manner. Far removed from the sort of primitivist, childlike affectations often ascribed to Animal Collective, Avey Tare is an adult here, emotionally nude and fearfully alone. Tare greets passersby and is struck by the thought that \u201cI think that I\u2019m only one I see sometimes,\u201d frightened at the possibility that after all these years of fanciful naturism, this is the result of him being honest with himself. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Animal Collective: \u201cFireworks\u201d<\/p>\n

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34.<\/div>\n

M.I.A.: \u201cGalang\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Forget the Grammys\u2013 what M.I.A. really deserves recognition for is her unwavering dedication to the onomatopoeic and the staccato; the hard consonant and the long vowel; the simple pleasure-giving properties of words. \u201cGalang\u201d may be patois for \u201cgo on,\u201d but the word\u2019s real currency, she suggests, is in its stackability, the way it piles on top of itself to galang-a-lang-a-lang.<\/p>\n

A similar feeling-over-meaning instinct informed many of her future artistic choices, including those related to the complicated and not easily untangled circumstances of the Sri Lankan civil war. Despite its artist-conferred status as protest music, the video for \u201cGalang\u201d features M.I.A. dancing in a stylized wonderland of neon-bright graffitied iconography (bombs, tigers, machine guns) that wears insurgency and inequality like fashion. To a continent that\u2019s often guilty of doing exactly that, \u201cGalang\u201d rang to some as troublesome, a criticism that M.I.A. forcefully rejected without ever convincingly explaining away. This willful conflation of style and substance\u2013 and a stubborn refusal to separate one from the other\u2013 has become a constant in her career. It\u2019s what makes her relevant and worthy of thought and discussion, and it began here. \u2013Mark Pytlik<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> M.I.A.: \u201cGalang\u201d<\/p>\n

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33.<\/div>\n

Spoon: \u201cThe Way We Get By\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Spoon were late bloomers. The first seven years of the band\u2019s career yielded many great songs, but in retrospect, Britt Daniel and Jim Eno spent all of that time gradually refining the elements of their style into a striking aesthetic all their own. \u201cThe Way We Get By\u201d is their breakthrough, and it still stands as the track that best defines the Spoon sound: rhythm and melody pared down to the barest essentials; extremely dry piano mingling with tight-pocket percussion; Daniel\u2019s sexy rasp hitting a perfect balance of cool aloofness and genuine emotional investment. The lyrics may namecheck some Iggy Pop classics, but the melodic sensibility is more like an alternate universe version of Billy Joel raised on the minimal punk of Wire. For longtime fans, this mastery of style and form was well worth the wait, but for just about everyone else, it was a revelation. \u2013Matthew Perpetua<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Spoon: \u201cThe Way We Get By\u201d<\/p>\n

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32.<\/div>\n

Amerie: \u201c1 Thing\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

\u201c1 Thing\u201d is a song without a center, without a floor or ceiling; it seems to hover in midair for four minutes. It comes out of nowhere, with producer Rich Harrison\u2019s flipped-and-splintered drum break from the Meters\u2019 \u201cOh, Calcutta!\u201d exploding right in your face, and then it\u2019s nothing but breakdown, i.e., the good part. There\u2019s basically no harmonic grounding\u2013 no bass, no synths until it\u2019s halfway through, only a few pitch-shifted shards of Leo Nocentelli\u2019s jazz-chord guitar and Amerie\u2019s voice. Her singing refuses to anchor the song, either: the \u201cno-no-no-no-no-oh\u201d that serves as its first hook sounds like it\u2019s flown in from an ad-lib. Even during the verses and choruses, phrases and gasps and wordless flashes of harmony pop up all over the stereo field. There\u2019s no individual Amerie singing it, just momentary impressions of a hundred Ameries, all scraping the roof of emotional response. All of which is to say that it\u2019s a precise evocation of being overwhelmed and swept away by passion. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Amerie: \u201c1 Thing\u201d<\/p>\n

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31.<\/div>\n

Jay-Z: \u201cBig Pimpin\u2018\u201d [ft. UGK] (2000)<\/h2>\n

The decade starts here\u2013 damn near literally, since the album this song appears on dropped three days before 2000 began. But more than that, \u201cBig Pimpin\u2019\u201d represents the aughts\u2019 increased legitimization of the South as a region that could get shine from NYC, both lyrically and production-wise. UGK\u2019s show-stealing guest spot ensures the former; it was a well-deserved breakthrough for the Texas icons and features the duo at their sharpest, whether it\u2019s Bun B turning a classic rhyme-scheme switch by toying with the pronunciation of \u201cscenario\u201d or Pimp C drawling out eight tracks\u2019 worth of potential hooks in his verse. And Timbaland\u2019s creatively lucrative infatuation with Eastern sounds hits its first jackpot here, with its trilling bellydance melodies refitted into a super-widescreen ass-propulsion motivator. The only thing that hasn\u2019t maintained its freshness: Hova\u2019s declaration that he\u2019ll never give his heart to a woman\u2013 though his staccato-yet-sleek time-shifting flow makes it easy to forget he reneged on that by \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Jay-Z: \u201cBig Pimpin\u2019\u201d [ft. UGK]<\/p>\n

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30.<\/div>\n

The White Stripes: \u201cSeven Nation Army\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

The Detroit duo withstood the \u201cReturn of Rock\u201d brouhaha to make a niche for themselves as arena-rocking, side-project-glutted, guitar-god-torch-carrying icons that we\u2019ve mostly forgotten the fake-sister mythmaking that set tongues wagging in the beginning. And \u201cSeven Nation Army\u201d is the garage-rock revivalists\u2019 anthem. (Need proof? It\u2019s still in heavy rotation in sporting arenas and strip clubs.) People, right down to those School of Rock<\/em> tots, have argued about Meg\u2019s proficiency as a drummer, but \u201cSeven Nation Army\u201d wouldn\u2019t have half of its menace were it not for the simplicity of her thumping, insistent floor tom. In the end, though, it is Jack\u2019s guitar\u2013 from its descending bass-y riff to its nimble, trebly solo\u2013 that whips the song into a furious squall from its rumbling intro. \u2013Rebecca Raber<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The White Stripes: \u201cSeven Nation Army\u201d<\/p>\n

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29.<\/div>\n

Hot Chip: \u201cBoy From School\u201d (2006)<\/h2>\n

\u201cWe tried but we didn\u2019t have long\/ We tried but we don\u2019t belong.\u201d With those lines, Hot Chip showed they were more than a bunch of synth-fetishizing goofballs. \u201cBoy From School\u201d wraps itself up in poignant nostalgia\u2013 the kind you can\u2019t escape from after spotting a high school acquaintance 10 years after the caps were tossed. It\u2019s about the undeniable desire to go backward and make things right: do that work, behave that way, see that girl. \u201cI got lost\/ You said this was the way back,\u201d it concludes, as if stuck in a looping dream.<\/p>\n

Which would all be a bit bedwetter if not for a thump jacked in from some sort of disco eternity. Hot Chip don\u2019t wallow in their past, no matter how bittersweet. The physicality of the beat and the clarity of the emotions fuse into a twinkling rumble that crystallizes teenage alienation without dwelling upon it. These Brits are bringing clubs into headphones and head space onto the floor; they\u2019re trying, succeeding. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Hot Chip: \u201cBoy From School\u201d<\/p>\n

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28.<\/div>\n

Antony and the Johnsons: \u201cHope There\u2019s Someone\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s hard to think of a human experience untouched by song. With patience, you could piece together a playlist that chronologically represents everything that\u2019s ever happened to you\u2013 birthdays and funerals, weddings and break-ups, workdays and trips abroad, all of it. Or you could simply cut to the chase and put on \u201cHope There\u2019s Someone\u201d, where we experience the fullness of a lifespan in a few overpowering minutes. At first, it\u2019s small and delicate, like something taking its first tentative steps out of a cracked egg. Gradually, it learns to walk, grows, spreads its wings, soars, and is transfigured into a piano storm that seems very much like death. Antony Hegarty prays for safe passage for as long as he can, then gives in to the immense pressures he\u2019s cultivating, and just howls. Metamorphosis is his leitmotif, glinting in portions through his songs, but he nailed down the entire wriggling shape of it here. \u2013Brian Howe<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Antony and the Johnsons: \u201cHope There\u2019s Someone\u201d<\/p>\n

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27.<\/div>\n

Clipse: \u201cGrindin\u2019\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

It\u2019s one of the great triumphs of counterintuitive pop thinking that the 21st century\u2019s definitive hip-hop yayo-chic anthem sounds so sparse. It could be because Pusha T and Malice put themselves on the supply end of the chain rather than the blown-out, hubris-loaded demand that fuels traditional coked-out musical excess. Besides, they\u2019re more concerned with milking charisma out of a profession whose afterthought clients, for all we know, could be anyone from day traders to destitute single mothers. It\u2019s all strictly business anyhow, fodder for some ingeniously cold wordplay (\u201cI move \u2019caine like a cripple\u201d) and visions of Benz wagons and Gucci Chuck Taylors. That the Neptunes set it to a beat that sounds like car-door slams rearranged into a minimalist, clap-accented drumline only makes it easier to feel complicit in their trade, and if it wasn\u2019t so damned nod-provoking one might start asking some troubling questions about why we\u2019re bobbing our heads to coke rap in the first place. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Clipse: \u201cGrindin\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

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26.<\/div>\n

Justin Timberlake: \u201cMy Love\u201d [ft. T.I.] (2006)<\/h2>\n

No one wants to admit it now, but the majority of pop critics had written off Timbaland by 2006. He\u2019d spent almost 10 years rewriting the sonic guidelines for Top 40 hits, expanding both the melodic and rhythmic palette of pop, a pretty respectable run for any producer. But when a few years went by and Billboard\u2019s resident genius slipped into the nether region below the Top 40, pastiching himself to middling effect, plenty of people were ready to call him a spent force.<\/p>\n

Then: \u201cMy Love\u201d. A two-for-one reaffirmation that both Timbaland and the man with his name on the label, then-recently legitimatized boy-band refugee Justin Timberlake, had another round in them. The duo had already drawn attention with the grinding eroto-disco of \u201cSexyBack\u201d, but \u201cMy Love\u201d was a full-on leap into the world of slo-mo techno. J.T.\u2019s lyrics are of a piece with a career built on guileless mash notes, but the charm of his double-time choruses dovetails perfectly with Tim\u2019s spiraling club synths. Rarely has a song fulfilled an album title\u2019s aesthetic manifesto so succinctly. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Justin Timberlake: \u201cMy Love\u201d [ft. T.I.]<\/p>\n

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25.<\/div>\n

Rihanna: \u201cUmbrella\u201d [ft. Jay-Z] (2007)<\/h2>\n

In pop\u2019s armory of emotions, fidelity<\/em> is among the trickiest to get right. Too easily its expression tips into the reassuring sentimentality of \u201cThat\u2019s What Friends Are For\u201d. This only makes \u201cUmbrella\u201d more startling and precious: In this particular field the song is possibly without peer. The secret was to capture fidelity\u2019s difficulty, its challenge, and Rihanna\u2019s method is pleasingly literal, pitting her pledge of devotion against nature itself: synthesizer chords like a rainstorm and breakbeats like thunder claps or trees crashing to the ground. In the midst of it all, Rihanna herself sounds hard and defiant, abandoning her former girlish sweetness for a steely determination; hence the near-violence of her \u201cum-be-rella-ella-ella,\u201d as impacting and stirring as a war cry. It\u2019s not sensual, but, \u201cSaid I\u2019ll always be your friend\/ Took an oath, I\u2019m a stick it out till the end,\u201d remains one of modern pop\u2019s most romantic and affecting promises. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Rihanna: \u201cUmbrella\u201d [ft. Jay-Z]<\/p>\n

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24.<\/div>\n

Radiohead: \u201cEverything in Its Right Place\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

As we near decade\u2019s end, let\u2019s take a moment to pity the poor, patient believers who\u2013 when the 00s were but 10 months old\u2013 plunked down a dozen or so dollars for Radiohead\u2019s fourth album, Kid A<\/em>, hit play, and waited for their favorite band to rock out. Sure, Thom Yorke had struggled with fandom and fame touring behind the monumental OK Computer<\/em>, but what was this shit? If everything was really in its right place, where were the fucking guitars, which they<\/em> had vowed anyone<\/em> could play (except themselves, suddenly)? And whose crackling old keyboards were those? And why did rock\u2019s razor-sharp voice suddenly sound as if it\u2019d been broken into bits by a centrifuge? Luckily, every band didn\u2019t follow this song\u2019s lead, but “Everything in Its Right Place”\u2013 a sharp-tongued kiss-off that stood on the shoulders of different giants, like krautrock, Stockhausen, and Squarepusher\u2013 poured new possibilities into several previously hermetic circles. And it was too hypnotic to dare apologize. \u2013Grayson Currin<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Radiohead: \u201cEverything in Its Right Place\u201d<\/p>\n

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23.<\/div>\n

Daft Punk: \u201cDigital Love\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

Only Daft Punk could\u2019ve gotten away with a song this innocent, this oblivious to cool, this unafraid of coming right out and saying what it means. In interviews about \u201cDigital Love\u201d, Daft Punk have mentioned Supertramp as an inspiration, but the first time I heard it I thought immediately of the theme to \u201cThe Greatest American Hero\u201d, one of the squarest TV themes of the early 1980s. I suspect the references will be different for everyone comes into contact with the song, which says something about \u201cDigital Love\u201d\u2019s uncanny knack for tapping into pop\u2019s collective unconscious. You hear it and you\u2019re 10 years old again, standing in the vicinity of a radio and thinking about a person you\u2019ve got a crush on, who looms somewhere just out of reach. It\u2019s a love song to the power of music itself, accentuated by the broadcast-style filtering in its first half and the explosive guitar solo in its second. And let\u2019s face it: when you\u2019re young and lonely and by the radio, your feeling for the music and the yearning it inspires counts as much as anything. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Daft Punk: \u201cDigital Love\u201d<\/p>\n

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22.<\/div>\n

LCD Soundsystem: \u201cSomeone Great\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

For a guy who habitually neglected to write lyrics before recording, James Murphy turned into a pretty smart songwriter on LCD Soundsystem\u2019s Sound of Silver<\/em>. On \u201cSomeone Great\u201d, he chooses his words carefully and studiously avoids mawkishness or easy sentiment, fully aware that heady introversion can make a song like this all the more affecting. The synthy whir and clockwork drum pattern, not to mention the glockenspiel that shadows his stoic lyrics, suggest the steady passing of minutes, hours, and days marked by intractable absence, and that main scribbly motif strained subtly on its final high note, giving \u201cSomeone Great\u201d its warmest approximation of human despair. If most songs about death\u2013 either of a loved one or of a relationship\u2013 strive to be all heart, Murphy still processes emotions through his head and feet. \u2013Stephen M. Deusner<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> LCD Soundsystem: \u201cSomeone Great\u201d<\/p>\n

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21.<\/div>\n

Kelly Clarkson: \u201cSince U Been Gone\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Songs about wresting your self-respect back from a bad lover have an unfortunate tendency to turn into shrill, one-sided attacks. All-American belter Kelly Clarkson, however, had a much less petty take on self-empowerment: \u201cYour loss, sucker. I\u2019m still gonna live my life. And better than ever before.\u201d<\/p>\n

So, sure, \u201cSince U Been Gone\u201d gave us one of the most blunt rallying cries of the last ten years, a perfectly realized sing-along chorus that will be a karaoke staple for years. But it\u2019s fair to say that no one, even her early post-TV partisans, figured on an \u201cAmerican Idol\u201d winner turning out such a great rock<\/em> song, let alone a 21st-century indie rock pastiche given a world-conquering pop glaze by Swedish impresario Max Martin. But homage to certain new millennium New York bands isn\u2019t why the song transcends. It\u2019s Clarkson\u2019s go-for-broke performance, those reality show-honed pipes finally put to expressing the unfiltered joy of newfound freedom. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Kelly Clarkson: \u201cSince U Been Gone\u201d<\/p>\n

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20.<\/div>\n

The Walkmen: \u201cThe Rat\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Somebody is pissed, somebody else is reeling from remorse, and everybody\u2019s going full throttle on what has become the signature Walkmen hyperjam. Hamilton Leithauser, unhinged even on a good day, just flies right off the handle and the rest of the band doesn\u2019t slack for a second. Forget secret weapons; everything\u2019s out in the open here and all the more dangerous for it. And Bows & Arrows<\/em> ain\u2019t the half of it: This is a St. Valentine\u2019s Day Massacre of relentless drums, bass, and guitar. It all comes together with the whiz-bang aplomb of a Scorsese picture\u2013 of course remorse is all that\u2019s left when it\u2019s over. Even so, \u201cThe Rat\u201d doesn\u2019t need a context or backstory or string of descriptive metaphors to completely knock you over. It\u2019s a headrush of a song that succeeds entirely on its own merits, like the ultimate emo anthem for an alternate dimension where girls don\u2019t exist (sorry, ladies), music is a form of violence, and emo actually means raw, unbridled emotion and nothing more. \u2013Matthew Solarski<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Walkmen: \u201cThe Rat\u201d<\/p>\n

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19.<\/div>\n

R. Kelly: \u201cIgnition (Remix)\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

You have to work very hard indeed to sound this casual. \u201cIgnition (Remix)\u201d is a lazy, buzzed collage of a night on the town put together with a craftsman\u2019s eye. The same trick\u2013 making meticulous detail sound almost improvised\u2013 is what made \u201cTrapped in the Closet\u201d so shockingly successful and replayable. Here R. Kelly isn\u2019t telling a story so much as throwing out images, but the template is similar: a chassis of easy-rolling steppers\u2019 music that can respond to the slightest change in the singer\u2019s mood.<\/p>\n

Not a phrase is wasted: When the Mountain Goats\u2019 John Darnielle started a message board thread on 100 reasons for this song\u2019s greatness, every single fraction of \u201cIgnition (Remix)\u201d got its own nomination (and the list went well beyond 100). Personal favorites\u2013 the cork-and-glasses onomatopoeia of \u201cCris-tal poppin\u2019\u201d; the five table-rapping beats that summon the chorus; and, inevitably, \u201cbounce bounce bounce bounce bounce.\u201d Every decade brings us songs whose purpose is simply to bottle the feeling of the best night out it\u2019s possible to enjoy. Call it a service to history: if, as seems likely, future generations judge the 00s as an era of bubble-fuelled idiocy, we will at least be able to point to \u201cIgnition (Remix)\u201d and say, \u201cYes, but just hear how great it felt.\u201d \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> R. Kelly: \u201cIgnition (Remix)\u201d<\/p>\n

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18.<\/div>\n

Hercules and Love Affair: \u201cBlind\u201d (2008)<\/h2>\n

It goes without saying that \u201cBlind\u201d captivates any dancefloor. The real story is that Hercules and Love Affair\u2019s Andrew Butler should be applauded for anticipating just how brilliant a disco diva Antony could be, and how physically tactile his quavering voice might sound in a club setting. \u201cAs a child I knew that the stars could only get brighter,\u201d he sighs, and rarely before has innocence lost seemed so tragic. \u201cBlind\u201d doesn\u2019t mourn the loss of childhood, but childhood\u2019s dreams of a future in which lasting and meaningful connections might be forged. You dance in response because there is nothing else worth doing, and no other way to understand others that will work any better. A bleak vision, and yet it feels of a piece with all of dance music\u2019s finest expressions of hopeless, unrequited devotion. \u201cBlind\u201d pays homage to this legacy of disco and primitive house, but also offers its own tremulous rejoinder, \u201cWhat if I don\u2019t just feel alone tonight, but every night?\u201d In doing so, it doesn\u2019t introduce existential angst to the dancefloor so much as reveal how its creeping fear was always already there.. \u2013Tim Finney<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Hercules and Love Affair: \u201cBlind\u201d<\/p>\n

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17.<\/div>\n

Annie: \u201cHeartbeat\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

A few great records were made this decade about the memory of dancing: In this one the dance is a stand-in for everything joyful and special about a lost moment. With its urgent builds, \u201cHeartbeat\u201d wills that dance to start again; with her serene delivery, Annie knows that it can\u2019t really. An Internet sensation before that meant much actual success, for most of the 00s Annie made ginger attempts to step from being \u201cour\u201d pop star to being everyone\u2019s. The subsequent success of Robyn and M.I.A. suggests this was no pipe-dream, but since most of Annie\u2019s best songs from \u201cChewing Gum\u201d to \u201cAnthonio\u201d are exercises in beguiling diffidence it\u2019s not wholly surprising she never managed it.<\/p>\n

And it hardly matters: hit-laden or not, very few catalogues contain anything as bewitching as \u201cHeartbeat\u201d, a piece of disco handicraft as intimate as it is giddy. Annie\u2019s final verse, taken quiet and half-spoken as the song peaks, is like eavesdropping on a secret wish. As soon as she finishes it the song blows out like a birthday candle. \u201cI won\u2019t forget.\u201d Stardom be damned, neither will we. \u2013Tom Ewing<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Annie: \u201cHeartbeat\u201d<\/p>\n

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16.<\/div>\n

The Rapture: \u201cHouse of Jealous Lovers\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

For a lot of people, \u201cHouse of Jealous Lovers\u201d was so inextricable from a time (2002) and a place (New York City) that by the time it saw an official album release, it was seen as a hell of a wake for the dance-punk movement that came and went with a speed that was pretty impressive even for indie sub-genres. Me, I didn\u2019t know about any of that shit. In October 2003, I was in a Georgia college town while struggling with an iffy Internet connection\u2013 I bought Echoes<\/em> on a recommendation and played Track 6 on a damn near continuous loop and had to find out who the hell these guys were. I can\u2019t be the only one.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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However emblematic it is of its DFA-led scene or whatever, sweet Jesus, what a song. All those lame bandwagon acts, the failure of this scene to catch on commercially\u2013 the Rapture don\u2019t need to answer for any of that. You need no investment in its importance to find infinite pleasure in that bassline and Luke Jenner\u2019s fearlessly off-key hooks. Even the cowbell hasn\u2019t gotten old. Point being, I can\u2019t imagine ever hearing \u201cHouse of Jealous Lovers\u201d without wondering if we maybe should give this dance-punk thing another shot, like, right now. \u2013Ian Cohen<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Rapture: \u201cHouse of Jealous Lovers\u201d<\/p>\n

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15.<\/div>\n

The Knife: \u201cHeartbeats\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

No matter which iteration of \u201cHeartbeats\u201d you may prefer \u2013 the original recording from Deep Cuts<\/em>, the dance remix by Rex the Dog, the achingly sentimental arrangement from the Silent Shout<\/em> live disc, or even the cover versions by Jos\u00e9 Gonz\u00e1lez and the Scala choir\u2013 the essence of the song is always the same. The tune is strangely immutable, as if no interpretation, however radical, could possibly upset its precise balance of desire and nostalgia. As malleable as \u201cHeartbeats\u201d may be, it is best heard sung by Karin Dreijer Andersson, who invests her cryptic lyrics about a brief, intense love affair with a passion and vulnerability seemingly at odds with her metallic, otherworldly tone. Andersson\u2019s words suggest as much pleasure as pain, but her voice lingers in between, where lust and terror overlap in a moment of profound intimacy.<\/p>\n

Though the chorus suggests a deep sense of loss and regret, the emphasis is placed on the fleeting connection, which is presented as a sort of magical inevitability. Indeed, there is magic in every note of the song, manifesting itself just as much in the melody as in specific details, such as the subtle decay in the neon-hued synth tones of the original, or the cavernous spaces separating the arpeggiated notes of the live arrangement. Whether performed plaintively or joyously, each version of \u201cHeartbeats\u201d is a miracle in its own right, highlighting a different aspect of the same incredible, life-affirming experience. \u2013Matthew Perpetua<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> The Knife: \u201cHeartbeats\u201d<\/p>\n

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14.<\/div>\n

Jay-Z: \u201c99 Problems\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

With respect to \u201cHard Knock Life\u201d or \u201cI.Z.Z.O.\u201d, this was Jay-Z\u2019s complete crossover moment, the single that catapulted him out of hip-hop superstardom into everyone\u2019s vernacular. In retrospect, it sounds very much like he knows it; listen to the way his hushed lines at the beginning build into something more sure-footed over time. By the outro, he\u2019s beaming in the direction of producer Rick Rubin, as if the song\u2019s hugeness is now a foregone conclusion. To be fair, Jay-Z pretty much always sounds like he\u2019s attending his own coronation, but in the context of \u201c99 Problems\u201d\u2019s stadium-huge guitar inhalations and exhalations, that exuberance feels especially infectious.<\/p>\n

And don\u2019t forget the context. Before Jay-Z and Beyonc\u00e9 were officially a thing, they spent months playing coy with the media. Speculation reached boiling point with the serendipitously-aligned releases of a blatant affirmation in the form of \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d and a blatant denial in the form of \u201c99 Problems\u201d. Of course, everyone knew the story by then, but the fact that this played out the way it did (i.e. with two monstrous singles, the other of which he featured on, playing call and response at the top of the charts) is as much a testament to Jigga\u2019s PR savviness as anything else; you don\u2019t reach this level on music alone. \u2013Mark Pytlik<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Jay-Z: \u201c99 Problems\u201d<\/p>\n

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13.<\/div>\n

LCD Soundsystem: \u201cLosing My Edge\u201d (2002)<\/h2>\n

If the songs on this list were chosen solely by how they captured the zeitgeist in independent music, \u201cLosing My Edge\u201d would be an easy #1. The most audacious debut single of the 00s, “Losing My Edge” captured the anxiety of trying to use your taste in music as a badge of cool in the era when all music is available to anyone who can afford a broadband connection. Over a beat borrowed from Killing Joke\u2019s \u201cChange\u201d, James Murphy alternates a lament about being eclipsed by “The kids coming up from behind” with tall tales of early encounters with Can, Suicide, Captain Beefheart, and other icons of hipster scum. The worst thing about this new generation of interlopers? \u201cThey\u2019re actually really nice,\u201d Murphy says, which makes them even more difficult to hate.<\/p>\n

But while he laid out the essential facts of music fandom in our age and also articulated the central absurdity of forming a band in a time of such excess (What do you do when everything has been done?), Murphy then managed to transcend it all. Yep, we\u2019re fucked: there\u2019s nothing new under the sun, and unlike the kids, we don\u2019t have the advantage of not knowing. So what next, then? You go for it, make music anyway, and do it so well that no one cares what you actually know and whom you\u2019re borrowing from. Which is what he did the rest of the decade. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> LCD Soundsystem: \u201cLosing My Edge\u201d<\/p>\n

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12.<\/div>\n

OutKast: \u201cHey Ya!\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

What\u2019s cooler than being cool? How about ebullient songs about life-cracking misery? Those are pretty cool. How about lyrics so sharp that nearly every line in them becomes a catchphrase? And hard funk grooves in weird power-pop time signatures? And presentations of black male sexuality that basically come down to being really clever and funny? Those are cool also. Actually, you know what was really<\/em> cool? You remember the moment in the fall of 2003 when \u201cHey Ya!\u201d came out and it sounded like Andr\u00e9 3000 had cracked the code and made a record that sounded like everything on the radio and nothing anyone had heard before, and it seemed like the walls between rock and R&B and hip-hop were about to topple and from then on there would just be this enormous pool of popular music that everyone could swim around in? And then there was the equally brilliant paradigm-smashing video for it, and then after that somebody did that \u201cA Charlie Brown Christmas\u201d cut-up video that\u2019s still funny more than five years later? And we all thought that OutKast had come into their true power and had a million more amazing hits in front of them, and didn\u2019t notice that they\u2019d basically already broken up even though to this day they keep insisting that they\u2019re a going concern despite the fact that they don\u2019t tour together and barely appear on each other\u2019s records? God, that was cool. Ice cold. \u2013Douglas Wolk<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> OutKast: \u201cHey Ya!\u201d<\/p>\n

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11.<\/div>\n

Gnarls Barkley: \u201cCrazy\u201d (2005)<\/h2>\n

Any successful artistic collaboration is going to rely to some degree on serendipity, but Gnarls Barkley\u2019s \u201cCrazy\u201d seems an especially uncanny intersection of timing and talent. Though the partnership between producer Danger Mouse\u2013 fresh off the success of The Grey Album<\/em>, his Jay-Z\/Beatles mash-up\u2013 and Goodie Mob rapper\/soulman Cee-Lo Green seemed like an intriguing match-up from the start, it hardly seemed like a recipe for an instantaneous worldwide smash hit. Yet from the time it first appeared on the group\u2019s website, \u201cCrazy\u201d became the virtual definition of a viral hit single, eventually becoming the first song to reach #1 on the UK charts solely through download sales.<\/p>\n

Perhaps the song\u2019s immediate commercial success is a reflection of the spontaneity with which it was recorded. In a 2006 interview, Danger Mouse told Pitchfork that Cee-Lo\u2019s entire vocal for the song had been recorded on the first take, a claim that might seem outlandish if \u201cCrazy\u201d didn\u2019t sound quite so vibrant and alive. Based on a sample from a vintage spaghetti western soundtrack, Danger Mouse\u2019s production is spare and compact, giving Green all the space he needs to fully inhabit the song. And it remains a joy to hear the way Green seizes the moment, his spirited vocal managing to sound both exuberant and wistful, and it quickly becomes clear that other artists might spend a career in the studio and never capture a similar moment of such casual magic. \u2013Matthew Murphy<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Gnarls Barkley: \u201cCrazy\u201d<\/p>\n

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10.<\/div>\n

Arcade Fire: \u201cNeighborhood #1 (Tunnels)\u201d (2004)<\/h2>\n

Funeral<\/em> is a great record top-to-bottom, and it really does work brilliantly as an album<\/em>, with its interludes, recurring themes, and consistently affecting songs. But sometimes it\u2019s just too intense to absorb all it once, and at times like this, you can just play just the album\u2019s opening track, \u201cNeighborhood #1 (Tunnels)\u201d, which encapsulates everything great about the record in one five-minute slab of yearning.<\/p>\n

\u201cNeighborhood #1 (Tunnels)\u201d is a fantasy of teenage escape, imagining a world without parents and adult sadness, in a town buried in snow with tunnels connecting two of the characters. The lyrics paint a surreal and compelling picture, but there\u2019s just as much meaning in the crack of Win Butler\u2019s voice, who is bound so tightly with angst that his singing just sort of escapes in yelping waves. There\u2019s the resonance of the piano, sounding like a creaky old upright playing 100 years ago. And there\u2019s the song\u2019s ecstatic build, all the voices and instruments\u2013 and there are a lot of them\u2013 joined together in a communal sing-along that both celebrates and mourns. It\u2019s all just so much, man, that sometimes five minutes is all you can take. So “Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)” is there for you, until next time. \u2013Mark Richardson<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Arcade Fire: \u201cNeighborhood #1 (Tunnels)\u201d<\/p>\n

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9.<\/div>\n

Animal Collective: \u201cMy Girls\u201d (2009)<\/h2>\n

Leaked in late 2008, right in the middle of an ongoing economic meltdown, \u201cMy Girls\u201d was perfectly of its moment, decrying materialism for simpler joys: \u201cI don\u2019t need to seem like I care about material things like social status\/ I just want four walls and adobe slabs for my girls!\u201d They don\u2019t sing those lines; they exclaim them amid a whirl of synth beeps and sine waves that started from chaos and coalesced into an exuberant stomp.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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It may be a strangely sentimental point for an indie group with avant-noise roots to make, but it also signaled another sea change in a decade full of them for Animal Collective. If previously they donned masks and adopted nicknames to hide their identities, coming across as way too esoteric to play to the rafters, on \u201cMy Girls\u201d the band step forward as pop stars of their own making, managing the impossible feat of straddling so many different audiences: indie nerds, jambanders, your parents. They could end up being Phish or Arcade Fire or maybe both, but this song is the key to their future: effervescent, heartfelt, inventive, original, and gutsy enough to suggest that we don\u2019t need a stable economy to be rich. \u2013Stephen M. Deusner<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Animal Collective: \u201cMy Girls\u201d<\/p>\n

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Capitol<\/p>\n

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8.<\/div>\n

Radiohead: \u201cIdioteque\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

I\u2019m pretty certain when Paul Lansky was composing his primitive computer piece, \u201cMild und Leise\u201d in 1973, he didn\u2019t reckon that 27 years later four chords from that work would cause thousands of listeners to spend the succeeding decade spontaneously breaking out in chills whenever they encountered them. Superficially, “Idioteque” is just another of Radiohead\u2019s miraculous efforts on Kid A<\/em> to harness the power and strangeness of several decades\u2019 worth of experimental music and recontextualize it inside of a four- or five-minute \u201crock\u201d song by a multi-platinum band with tremendous melodic gifts and a spectrally majestic singer.<\/p>\n

Yet somehow, \u201cIdioteque\u201d has always stood apart, inevitably eliciting greater screams when introduced in concert than any other song that isn\u2019t a long-forgotten, heavily-fetishized B-side. Despite originating from the birth pangs of the technological revolution, \u201cIdioteque\u201d remains one of Radiohead\u2019s most forward-feeling songs, thanks to its abstracted drum patterns and assorted spritzing gadgetry. Perhaps above all else, it captures the philosophical essence of Radiohead\u2013 oblique existentialist lyrics that nonetheless unmistakably suggest confusion, helplessness and menace, wedded to a song structure that similarly refuses to offer solace, comfort or explanation. \u2013Joshua Love<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Radiohead: \u201cIdioteque\u201d<\/p>\n

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Elektra<\/p>\n

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7.<\/div>\n

Missy Elliott: \u201cGet Ur Freak On\u201d (2001)<\/h2>\n

\u201cFor those of you who hated,\u201d Missy taunted at the beginning of \u201cLick Shots\u201d, \u201cyou only made us more creative.\u201d By that standard, the song that followed it on Miss E… So Addictive<\/em> must\u2019ve meant that her and Timbaland were the most-loathed artists of 2001. Eight years after it hit the top ten of Billboard\u2019s Hot 100, \u201cGet Ur Freak On\u201d still sounds like an audaciously leftfield stroke of genius, a song that succeeded wildly in its goal to push futurism, global style, and flat-out hyper-manic absurdity to equally lofty heights. Timbaland\u2019s flair for the accessibly exotic reached its peak here with his bhangra-meets-jungle beat and 50s B-movie sci-fi synths, replacing the stagger-step trap breaks of drum\u2019n\u2019bass with a burbling tabla and subsequently creating a uniquely slippery dance track that bumps hard without a single kick drum.<\/p>\n

Missy makes a hell of a case for herself as one of the era\u2019s all-time great hip-hop surrealists with her performance here, turning on a dime from sing-song chanting to left-field cartoon opera notes or unhinged screams, all with a voice that\u2019s somewhere between coyly sexy, tear-the-club-up cocky and Spike Jones chaotic. Reclaiming the word \u201cbitch\u201d as a synonym for badass, turning the vocal non-sequitur into an art and big-upping the kind of game-changing otherness that \u201cgot the radio shook like we got a gun,\u201d \u201cGet Ur Freak On\u201d has long since established itself as an integral part of the evolution of pop music in the 21st Century\u2013 but don\u2019t hold your breath waiting for the day it\u2019ll sound ordinary. \u2013Nate Patrin<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> Missy Elliott: \u201cGet Ur Freak On\u201d<\/p>\n

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6.<\/div>\n

Yeah Yeah Yeahs: \u201cMaps\u201d (2003)<\/h2>\n

Part of what made \u201cMaps\u201d so disarming was that nothing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs had recorded, up to that point in their then-short career, even hinted that their hall-of-fame single would also be one of the most tender ballads of the decade. Suddenly the jagged art-punk and Karen O\u2019s beer and bile-fueled sneer was put on pause. And in their place was a swooning plea for a lover to reconsider leaving, set to chiming guitar.<\/p>\n

Which is not to say the song fails to, you know, rock the fuck out at the appropriate moments. \u201cBallad\u201d here means intent more than form. Guitarist Nick Zinner\u2019s feedback-charged bridge is epic and<\/em> somehow tasteful. It\u2019s noisy without harassing the ears, and abetted by drummer Brian Chase\u2019s charging cymbals.<\/p>\n

But O is the real star, the semi-obscure concerns of her verses obviated by the most emotionally naked chorus in a long time. When her voice rises, nearly cracking on \u201cwait, they don\u2019t love you like I love you\u201d before that bridge, you don\u2019t even need to be a native English speaker to catch the last-ditch longing she\u2019s unashamedly revealing in public. And if you think that kind of transparency is easy to pull off without tipping into drivel, there\u2019s decades of failed pop to prove you wrong. \u2013Jess Harvell<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Yeah Yeah Yeahs: \u201cMaps\u201d<\/p>\n

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Virgin<\/p>\n

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5.<\/div>\n

Daft Punk: \u201cOne More Time\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

A pool filled with cotton candy Jelly Belly\u2019s at a 10-year-old\u2019s birthday bash. The most drunk-uncle moment at your cousin\u2019s wedding. A dozen cartoon kittens flipping their tails double-time with the boom. Winning both “The $10,000 Pyramid” and “Jeopardy!” on the same day. Aliens touching down on earth only to give every man, woman, and child their own ghettoblaster. This song sounds like many things. It is not prudent. But it is wise. Because\u2013 remember\u2013 it\u2019s called “One More Time”. Not “Forever” or “Infinity” or “17 More Times”. This is it. There is an end. The feelings will wear off. But not before the beautifully faceless Romanthony gurgles his way into your chest, knees, brain. Not before Daft Punk distill 25 years of pop and house into five and a half minutes of first-time joy. Not before you lose any and all sense, breath, scream, beg, cry, break, heal, pump, kick, and beam wider than your mouth knows. So keep repeating because you won\u2019t last. “One More Time”, of course, will. \u2013Ryan Dombal<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Daft Punk: \u201cOne More Time\u201d<\/p>\n

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Columbia \/ Sony<\/p>\n

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4.<\/div>\n

Beyonc\u00e9: \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d [ft. Jay-Z] (2003)<\/h2>\n

If someone told you that the sheet music for \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d was just a lot of exclamation points on a staff, you would believe them, right? From its first moments on til the end, its enormous beats and blaring fanfare pummel everything its path like a brutal force of nature, leaving us all with a clear choice to either turn away or submit to its indomitable power. It\u2019s fitting that this sound would be the basis of Beyonc\u00e9 Knowles breakthrough hit, as it is the ideal showcase for the singer\u2019s forthright persona and her gift for vocal performances that manage an improbable balance of poised professionalism and feral emoting.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Amazingly, \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d isn\u2019t even Knowles at full blast\u2013 she comes much harder on later hits such as \u201cGet Me Bodied\u201d and \u201cSingle Ladies (Put a Ring on It\u201d\u2013 but the sheer force of her presence is enough to overshadow a strong cameo appearance by the freakishly charismatic Jay-Z and nearly erase the memory of her former bandmates in Destiny\u2019s Child. She was no stranger to stardom before \u201cCrazy In Love,\u201d but after its blockbuster success, there was no question that Beyonc\u00e9 had arrived as the definitive female R&B singer of her era, and had become the clear successor to a lineage of superstars including Mary J. Blige, Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson, Whitney Houston, Donna Summer, and Diana Ross. \u2013Matthew Perpetua<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> Beyonc\u00e9: \u201cCrazy in Love\u201d [ft. Jay-Z]<\/p>\n

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XL \/ Interscope<\/p>\n

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3.<\/div>\n

M.I.A.: \u201cPaper Planes (Diplo Remix)\u201d [ft. Bun B and Rich Boy] (2007)<\/h2>\n

M.I.A.\u2019s \u201cPaper Planes\u201d united people like few other songs this decade, suggesting that given the right synergy of personality, topicality, and marketing, something like a mass audience could still gather around even the unlikeliest of phenomena. Riding the wave of Barack Obama\u2019s outsider popularity, \u201cPaper Planes\u201d felt unusually relevant for pop music in the age of \u201cAmerican Idol\u201d. Here was another outsider, this one a Sri Lankan Tamil raised in London who won over listeners with global-minded beats and revolutionary chic. The third single off her second album, Kala<\/em>, \u201cPaper Planes\u201d rode from its hipster dance-music niche into broader consciousness on the back of the trailer to Pineapple Express<\/em>, then made an extended cameo in Slumdog Millionaire<\/em>, the Oscar-winning film that was the late-00\u2019s other great border-hopping underdog story.<\/p>\n

The song alone is stunning enough, with its skanking sample of the Clash\u2019s \u201cStraight to Hell\u201d, its cash registers and gunshots, its chorus. Every sound tells a story, and every sound bled perfectly at a time of war(s), economic crisis, and a global hunger for change. Artists from Built to Spill to 50 Cent covered or remixed it; T.I. and Jay-Z sampled the song for their \u201cSwagger Like Us\u201d (which, going to #5 on the Billboard Hot 100, missed M.I.A.\u2019s \u201cPaper Planes\u201d chart peak by one point). The song\u2019s viral spread\u2013 appropriate, given the border-hopping lyrics and the backdrop of global flu pandemic scares that M.I.A. referenced on her \u201cBird Flu\u201d\u2013 makes it hard to identify any one version as the definitive one, which only testifies to its status as a kind of cultural fact. Push vs. shove however, we\u2019ve always been partial to this one, where Diplo fills in the song\u2019s few cracks with verses by Bun B and Rich Boy. \u2013Philip Sherburne<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> M.I.A.: \u201cPaper Planes (Diplo Remix)\u201d [ft. Bun B and Rich Boy]<\/p>\n

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DFA \/ EMI<\/p>\n

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2.<\/div>\n

LCD Soundsystem: \u201cAll My Friends\u201d (2007)<\/h2>\n

James Murphy started the decade chastising indie rock for becoming a name-dropping echo chamber of the same tired influences milked again and again. Boy, good thing that\u2019s all changed, huh? But Murphy still did us all a service by eroding indie\u2019s senseless aversion to dance music, using his DFA label and LCD Soundsystem to inject a cocktail of synths and syncopation that the scene has permanently assimilated. Helpfully, after complaining in \u201cYeah\u201d that \u201ceverybody keeps on talking about it, nobody\u2019s getting it done,\u201d Murphy took his own advice and started (mostly) showing rather than telling.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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On \u201cAll My Friends\u201d, Murphy is no longer worried about losing his edge\u2013 he\u2019s not even looking for it any more. There\u2019s a Pink Floyd reference, for Pete\u2019s sake. And while the song\u2019s skeletal structure may be virtually unchanged from the steady build of the band\u2019s first singles, the ingredients have been reshuffled: Instead of building off a drum beat, the core of the song is a jumbled piano loop that sounds discordant and uncomfortable until it\u2019s surrounded by a steadily growing army of percussion and the happiest guitar riff Murphy\u2019s ever allowed. By the end, the piano has become euphoric and confident without changing a lick, a neat thematic trick to accompany Murphy\u2019s bittersweet lyrical acceptance of growing old. \u201cAll My Friends\u201d survives the high-wire act of growing mature without getting boring, which just might be the lesson Prof. Murphy can teach his peers in the next decade. \u2013Rob Mitchum<\/p>\n

Listen:<\/strong> LCD Soundsystem: \u201cAll My Friends\u201d<\/p>\n

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LaFace \/ Arista<\/p>\n

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1.<\/div>\n

OutKast: \u201cB.O.B.\u201d (2000)<\/h2>\n

So you\u2019ve spent the past five days clicking through pages of this countdown only to find out that the best single of the 2000s was released just 10 months into the decade. (To the ensuing nine or so years of music: thanks for showing up.) And that it\u2019s the very same song that topped Pitchfork\u2019s Best Songs of 2000-2004 list from five years ago. Now you know how your parents feel when they tune into a long-weekend classic-rock radio countdown for the inevitable valedictory spin of \u201cStairway to Heaven\u201d.<\/p>\n

But really, do we have any other choice? \u201cB.O.B.\u201d is not just the song of the decade\u2013 it is<\/em> the decade. Appropriately, the contemporary hip-hop act most in tune with the Afro-Futurist philosophies of Sun Ra, George Clinton, and Afrika Bambaataa, wound up effectively crafting a fast-forwarded highlight-reel prophecy of what the next 10 years held in store. The title\u2013 aka \u201cBombs Over Baghdad\u201d, a phrase that sounded oddly anachronistic in 2000, sadly ubiquitous two and a half years later\u2013 is only the start of it. In \u201cB.O.B\u201d\u2019s booty-bass blitzkrieg, we hear an obliteration of the boundaries separating hip-hop, metal, and electro, setting the stage for a decade of dance\/rock crossovers. We hear a bloodthirsty gospel choir inaugurating a presidential administration of warmongering evangelicals. We hear Andr\u00e9 3000 and Big Boi fire off a synapse-bursting stream of ripped-from-the-headlines buzzwords (\u201cCure for cancer\/ Cure for AIDS\u201d), personal anecdotes (\u201cGot a son on the way by the name of Bamboo\u201d) and product placements (\u201cYo quiero Taco Bell\u201d) that read like the world\u2019s first Twitter feed. We hear four minutes of utter fucking chaos yielding to a joyously optimistic denouement (a point reinforced by the Stankonia cover\u2019s re-imagination of the American flag, which anticipates a White House set to be painted black).<\/p>\n

Of course, there is a downside of being ahead of your time\u2013 upon its release, \u201cB.O.B.\u201d didn\u2019t even dent the Billboard Hot 100, and merely peaked at No. 69 on the Hip-Hop\/R&B Chart. But unlike OutKast\u2019s subsequent number one singles (\u201cMs. Jackson\u201d and \u201cHey Ya\u201d) \u201cB.O.B.\u201d is too disorienting and exhausting an experience to ever succumb to over-saturation, and its majesty has never been diminished by ironic cover versions from cred-hungry rock bands. Because even after a decade that\u2019s seen the act of copying music become as easy as a mouse-click, and the process of performing simplified for toy video-game guitars, the future-shocked ferocity \u201cB.O.B.\u201d is something that just cannot be duplicated. \u2013Stuart Berman<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

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Listen:<\/strong> OutKast: \u201cB.O.B.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n

201. The New Pornographers: \u201cThe Laws Have Changed\u201d [Matador; 2003]
202. Belle and Sebastian: \u201cI’m Waking Up to Us\u201d [Matador; 2001]
203. Ricardo Villalobos: \u201cFizheuer Zieheuer\u201d [Playhouse; 2006]
204. Spoon: \u201cEverything Hits at Once\u201d [Merge; 2001]
205. Lily Allen: \u201cSmile\u201d [Capitol; 2006]
206. Bat for Lashes: \u201cDaniel\u201d [Astralwerks; 2009]
207. Outkast: \u201cThe Whole World\u201d [ft. Killer Mike] [LaFace; 2001]
208. Kylie Minogue: \u201cLove at First Sight\u201d [EMI; 2002]
209. The Clientele: \u201cSince K Got Over Me\u201d [Merge; 2005]
210. Cat Power: \u201cLived in Bars\u201d [Matador; 2006]
211. Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: \u201cTimorous Me\u201d [Lookout!; 2001]
212. The Beta Band: \u201cSquares\u201d [Regal\/Astralwerks; 2001]
213. Yeah Yeah Yeahs:\u201cY Control\u201d [Interscope; 2003]
214. Freeway: \u201cWhat We Do\u201d [ft. Jay-Z and Beanie Sigel] [Roc-A-Fella; 2003]
215. M.I.A.: \u201cBucky Done Gun\u201d [XL; 2005]
216. Sleater-Kinney: \u201cJumpers\u201d [Sub Pop; 2005]
217. Yeasayer: \u201c2080\u201d [We Are Free; 2007]
218. Bloc Party: \u201cBanquet\u201d [Wichita\/V2; 2004
219. Lil Mama: \u201cLip Gloss\u201d [Zomba; 2007]
220. Ekkehard Ehlers: \u201cPlays John Cassavettes, Pt. 2\u201d [Staubgold; 2001]
221. Fuck Buttons: \u201cSweet Love for Planet Earth\u201d [ATP; 2008]
222. Three 6 Mafia: \u201cSippin’ on Some Syrup\u201d [Loud\/Relativity; 2000]
223. Beach House: \u201cApple Orchard\u201d [Carpark; 2006]
224. The National: \u201cAbel\u201d [Beggars Banquet; 2005]
225. Dntel: \u201c(This Is) The Dream of Evan and Chan\u201d [ft. Ben Gibbard] [Plug Research; 2001]
226. Le Tigre: \u201cDeceptacon (DFA Remix)\u201d [DFA; 2001]
227. Bj\u00f6rk: \u201cPagan Poetry\u201d [Elektra; 2001]
228. Phoenix: \u201c1901\u201d [Glassnote; 2009]
229. Joanna Newsom: \u201cSprout and the Bean\u201d [Drag City; 2004]
230. The Mountain Goats: \u201cBest Ever Death Metal Band in Denton\u201d [Emperor Jones; 2001]
231. Jarvis Cocker: \u201cRunning the World\u201d [Rough Trade; 2006]
232. Destiny’s Child: \u201cJumpin\u2019 Jumpin\u201d\u201d [Columbia; 2000]
233. Air: \u201cPlayground Love\u201d [Astralwerks; 2000]
234. Electric Six: \u201cDanger! High Voltage!\u201d [XL; 2002]
235. Sally Shapiro: \u201cI’ll Be by Your Side\u201d [Paper Bag\/Discokaine; 2006]
236. Elliott Smith: \u201cA Distorted Reality Is Now a Necessity to Be Free\u201d [7\u201d version] [Suicide Squeeze\/Domino; 2003]
237. Cut Copy: \u201cOut There on the Ice\u201d [Modular; 2008]
238. Estelle [ft. Kanye West]: \u201cAmerican Boy\u201d [Atlantic; 2007]
239. The Dismemberment Plan: \u201cFace of the Earth\u201d [DeSoto; 2001]
240. Clipse \u201cZen\u201d [Re-Up Gang; 2008]
241. Les Savy Fav: \u201cThe Sweat Descends\u201d [Frenchkiss; 2004]
242. Dirty Projectors: \u201cRise Above\u201d [Dead Oceans; 2007]
243. Fischerspooner: \u201cEmerge\u201d [International Deejay Gigolo\/Ministry of Sound; 2001]
244. The Hives: \u201cHate to Say I Told You So\u201d [Burning Heart\/Epitaph; 2000]
245. Girls Aloud: \u201cBiology\u201d [Polydor\/Universal; 2005]
246. Lupe Fiasco: \u201cKick Push\u201d [Atlantic; 2006]
247. Broadcast: \u201cPendulum\u201d [Warp; 2003]
248. Liars: \u201cPlaster Casts of Everything\u201d [Mute; 2007]
249. Amadou & Mariam: \u201cSabali\u201d [Because Music; 2008]
250. The Thermals: \u201cA Pillar of Salt\u201d [Sub Pop; 2006]
251. Eminem: \u201cWithout Me\u201d [Interscope; 2002]
252. Bright Eyes: \u201cThe Calendar Hung Itself\u201d [Saddle Creek; 2000]
253. Caribou: \u201cMelody Day\u201d [Merge; 2007]
254. Radiohead: \u201cReckoner\u201d [self-released\/XL; 2007]
255. At the Drive-In: \u201cOne Armed Scissor\u201d [Grand Royal\/Virgin; 2000]
256. M83: \u201cKim & Jessie\u201d [Virgin; 2008]
257. The Flaming Lips: \u201cFight Test\u201d [Warner Bros.; 2002]
258. Rachel Stevens: \u201cSome Girls\u201d [Universal; 2004]
259. Neko Case: \u201cI Wish I Was the Moon\u201d [Bloodshot\/Matador; 2002]
260. Of Montreal: \u201cDisconnect the Dots\u201d [Polyvinyl; 2004]
261. Sonic Youth: \u201cIncinerate\u201d [Geffen; 2006]
262. Mastodon: \u201cBlood & Thunder\u201d [Relapse; 2004]
263. Coldplay: \u201cYellow\u201d [Parlophone; 2000]
264. Baby: \u201cWhat Happened to That Boy?\u201d [ft. Clipse] [Cash Money; 2002]
265. Jim O’Rourke: \u201cGood Times\u201d [Drag City; 2001]
266. Bright Eyes: \u201cFirst Day of My Life\u201d [Saddle Creek; 2005]
267. The Beta Band: \u201cTo You Alone\u201d [Regal; 2000]
268. Common: \u201cThe Light\u201d [MCA; 2000]
269. The Decemberists: \u201cThe Engine Driver\u201d [Kill Rock Stars; 2005]
270. Damian Marley: \u201cWelcome to Jamrock\u201d [Universal; 2005]
271. Arcade Fire: \u201cIntervention\u201d [Merge; 2007]
272. Nas: \u201cOne Mic\u201d [Columbia; 2001]
273. Smog: \u201cDress Sexy at My Funeral\u201d [Drag City; 2000]
274. The MFA: \u201cThe Difference It Makes\u201d(Superpitcher Remix) [Border Community; 2004]
275. Broken Social Scene: \u201cStars and Sons\u201d [Arts & Crafts; 2002]
276. The Darkness: \u201cI Believe in a Thing Called Love\u201d [Atlantic; 2003]
277. Earth: \u201cCoda Maestoso in F (Flat) Minor\u201d [Southern Lord; 2007
278. Madvillain: \u201cAmerica’s Most Blunted\u201d [Stones Throw; 2003]
279. Alan Braxe and Fred Falke: \u201cRubicon\u201d [Vulture; 2004]
280. The Fiery Furnaces: \u201cHere Comes the Summer\u201d [Rough Trade; 2005]
281. The Books: \u201cTake Time\u201d [Tomlab; 2003]
282. Luomo: \u201cThe Present Lover\u201d [Digital Disco version] [Force Tracks; 2002]
283. Godspeed You Black Emperor!: \u201cStorm\u201d [First Movement]
284. Wiley: \u201cWearing My Rolex\u201d [Asylum; 2008]
285. Ryan Adams: \u201cCome Pick Me Up\u201d [Bloodshot; 2000]
286. …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead: \u201cAnother Morning Stoner\u201d [Interscope; 2002]
287. Chromatics: \u201cIn the City\u201d [Italians Do It Better; 2007]
288. Fabolous: \u201cBreathe\u201d [Desert Storm\/Atlantic; 2004]
289. PJ Harvey: \u201cGood Fortune\u201d [Island; 2000]
290. The Exploding Hearts: \u201cModern Kicks\u201d [Dirtnap; 2002]
291. Missy Elliott: \u201cPass That Dutch\u201d [Elektra; 2003]
292. Deerhunter: \u201cSpring Hall Convert\u201d [Kranky; 2007]
293. Aphex Twin: \u201cAvril 14th\u201d [Warp; 2001]
294. Constantines: \u201cNight Time (Anytime It’s All Right)\u201d [Sub Pop; 2003]
295. Grandaddy: \u201cThe Crystal Lake\u201d [V2; 2000]
296. Johnny Cash: \u201cThe Man Comes Around\u201d [Universal; 2002]
297. David Byrne and Brian Eno: \u201cStrange Overtones\u201d [Todomundo; 2008]
298. Stars: \u201cYour Ex-Lover Is Dead\u201d [Arts & Crafts; 2004]
299. CSS: \u201cLet’s Make Love and Listen to Death From Above\u201d [Sub Pop; 2006]
300. Iron & Wine: \u201cUpward Over the Mountain\u201d [Sub Pop; 2002]
301. The Shins: \u201cKissing the Lipless\u201d [Sub Pop; 2003]
302. Black Dice: \u201cCone Toaster\u201d [DFA; 2003]
303. Mystikal: \u201cShake Ya Ass\u201d [Jive; 2000]
304. Destroyer: \u201cThe Sublimation Hour\u201d [Misra; 2001]
305. Loretta Lynn: \u201cPortland, Oregon\u201d [ft. Jack White] [Interscope; 2004]
306. Dr. Dre: \u201cThe Next Episode\u201d [ft. Kurupt, Snoop Dogg, and Nate Dogg] [Aftermath\/Interscope; 2000]
307. Wolf Parade: \u201cShine a Light\u201d [Sub Pop; 2005]
308. Gorillaz: \u201cFeel Good Inc.\u201d [Virgin; 2005]
309. Midlake: \u201cRoscoe\u201d [Bella Union; 2006]
310. Okkervil River: \u201cFor Real\u201d [Jagjaguwar; 2005]
311. Sticky: \u201cBooo!\u201d [Ministry of Sound; 2001]
312. The Go! Team: \u201cLadyflash\u201d [Memphis Industries; 2004]
313. The Wrens: \u201cShe Sends Kisses\u201c [Absolutely Kosher; 2003]
314. Metro Area: \u201cMiura\u201c [Environ; 2001]
315. Ratatat: \u201c17 Years\u201d [Rex\/Audio Dregs\/XL; 2003]
316. Neko Case: \u201cHold On, Hold On\u201d [Anti-; 2006]
317. Squarepusher: \u201cMy Red Hot Car\u201d [Warp; 2001]
318. The Notwist: \u201cOne With the Freaks\u201d [City Slang\/Domino; 2002]
319. Guided by Voices: \u201cChasing Heather Crazy\u201d [TVT\/Matador; 2001]
320. Ciara: \u201cPromise\u201d [LaFace; 2006]
321. Four Tet: \u201cSmile Around the Face\u201d [Domino; 2005]
322. Wu-Tang Clan: \u201cUzi (Pinky Ring)\u201d [Columbia\/Loud; 2001]
323. The Raptur: \u201cI Need Your Love\u201d [Strummer\/Universal; 2003]
324. The Twilight Sad: \u201cCold Days From the Birdhouse\u201d [FatCat; 2007]
325. Sean Paul: \u201cLike Glue\u201d [Atlantic; 2002]
326. Yeah Yeah Yeahs:\u201cCheated Hearts\u201d [Interscope; 2006]
327. Vampire Weekend: \u201cWalcott\u201d [XL; 2008]
328. Isol\u00e9e: \u201cSchrapnell\u201d [Playhouse; 2005]
329. Caribou: \u201cHendrix With KO\u201d [Leaf\/Domino; 2006]
330. The Roots: \u201cThe Seed 2.0\u201d [MCA\/Island; 2002]
331. Andrew Bird: \u201cFake Palindromes\u201d [Righteous Babe; 2005]
332. Aeroplane: \u201cWhispers\u201d [Wagram; 2008]
333. Death Cab for Cutie: \u201cA Movie Script Ending\u201d [Barsuk; 2001]
334. Grizzly Bear: \u201cWhile You Wait for the Others\u201d [Warp; 2009]
335. Max Tundra: \u201cMBGATE\u201d [Domino; 2002]
336. R\u00f6yksopp: \u201cEple\u201d [Wall of Sound; 2001]
337. The National: \u201cMistaken for Strangers\u201d [Beggars Banquet; 2007]
338. The Decemberists: \u201cO Valencia!\u201d [Capitol; 2006]
339. Sonic Youth: \u201cThe Empty Page\u201d [Geffen; 2002]
340. Herbert: \u201cSomething Isn’t Right\u201d [Kranky; 2000]
341. Fleet Foxes: \u201cBlue Ridge Mountains\u201d [Sub Pop; 2008]
342. Franz Ferdinand: \u201cDo You Want To\u201d [Domino; 2005]
343. The Microphones: \u201cThe Glow\u201d [K; 2000]
344. Lil Wayne: \u201cHustler Musik\u201d [Cash Money\/Universal; 2005]
345. Antony and the Johnsons: \u201cAeon\u201d [Secretly Canadian; 2009]
346. Super Furry Animals: \u201cJuxtaposed With U\u201d [Epic; 2001]
347. Bonnie \u201cPrince\u201d Billy: \u201cCursed Sleep\u201d [Drag City; 2006]
348. Aesop Rock: \u201cDaylight\u201d [Definitive Jux; 2001]
349. Beanie Sigel [ft. Melissa] \u201cFeel It in the Air\u201d [Roc-A-Fella; 2005]
350. Man Man: \u201cVan Helsing Boombox\u201d [Ace Fu; 2006]
351. Rich Boy:\u201cThrow Some D’s\u201d [ft. Polow Da Don] [Interscope; 2006]
352. Max\u00efmo Park: \u201cApply Some Pressure\u201d [Warp; 2005]
353. Stars of the Lid: \u201cRequiem for Dying Mothers (Part 1)\u201d [Kranky; 2001]
354. Tinariwen: \u201cMatadjem Yinmixan\u201d [World Village; 2007]
355. Deerhoof: \u201cMilk Man\u201d [Kill Rock Stars; 2004]
356. Jason Forrest: \u201c10 Amazing Years\u201d [Sonig; 2004]
357. Japandroids: \u201cYoung Hearts Spark Fire\u201d [Polyvinyl; 2009]
358. Cat Power: \u201cI Found a Reason\u201d [Matador; 2000]
359. Young Jeezy:\u201cGo Crazy\u201d (Remix)[ft. Jay-Z] [Def Jam; 2005]
360. Boards of Canada: \u201cIn a Beautiful Place Out in the Country\u201d [Warp; 2000]
361. Smog: \u201cRock Bottom Riser\u201d [Drag City; 2005]
362. Sigur R\u00f3s: \u201cVaka (Untitled 1)\u201d [XL; 2007]
363. Clap Your Hands Say Yeah: \u201cThe Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth\u201d [Clap Your Hands Say Yeah\/Wichita; 2005]
364. Elliott Smith: \u201cEverything Reminds Me of Her\u201d [DreamWorks; 2000]
365. Gwen Stefani: \u201cWhat You Waiting For\u201d (Thin White Duke Remix) [Interscope; 2004]
366. Matthew Dear: \u201cDog Days\u201d [Spectral Sound; 2003]
367. Frightened Rabbit: \u201cThe Modern Leper\u201d [FatCat; 2008]
368. Together: \u201cSo Much Love to Give\u201d [Roul\u00e9; 2002]
369. Primal Scream: \u201cSwastika Eyes\u201d [Astralwerks; 2000]
370. Lumidee: \u201cI’ll Never Leave You (Uh Oooh, Uh Oooh)\u201d [Universal; 2003]
371. Cam\u2019ron: \u201cGet ‘Em Girls\u201d [ft. Sarah Hindes] [Roc-A-Fella; 2004]
372. Camera Obscura: \u201cFrench Navy\u201d [4AD; 2009]
373. Cannibal Ox: \u201cThe F-Word\u201d [Definitive Jux; 2001]
374. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart: \u201cYoung Adult Friction\u201d [Slumberland; 2009]
375. R\u00f6yksopp: \u201cWhat Else Is There?\u201d [Astralwerks; 2005]
376. El-P: \u201cStepfather Factory\u201d [Definitive Jux; 2002]
377. Soulwax: \u201cNY Excuse\u201d [PIAS; 2004]
378. Blur: \u201cOut of Time\u201d [Virgin; 2003]
379. Goldfrapp: \u201cStrict Machine\u201d [Mute; 2003]
380. Rex the Dog: \u201cI Look Into Mid-Air\u201d [Kompakt; 2004]
381. Crime Mob: \u201cKnuck If You Buck\u201d [Warner Bros.; 2004]
383. Girls: \u201cHellhole Ratrace\u201d [True Panther; 2008]
384. Boards of Canada: \u201cMusic Is Math\u201d [Warp; 2002]
385. Four Tet: \u201cMy Angel Rocks Back and Forth\u201d [Domino; 2004]
386. Konono No. 1: \u201cParadiso\u201d [Crammed Discs; 2004]
387. Cortney Tidwell: \u201cDon\u2019t Let Stars Keep Us Tangled Up\u201d (Ewan\u2019s Objects in Space Remix) [K7; 2007]
388. Sigur R\u00f3s: \u201cHopp\u00edpolla\u201d [EMI; 2005]
389. Junior Boys: \u201cHigh Come Down\u201d [KIN; 2004]
390. The Long Blondes: \u201cOnce and Never Again\u201d [Rough Trade; 2006]
391. King Khan and the Shrines: \u201cWelfare Bread\u201d [Vice; 2008]
392. B15 Project: \u201cGirls Like Us\u201d [Relentless; 2000]
393. Lightning Bolt: \u201cDracula Mountain\u201d [Load; 2003]
394. The Streets: \u201cBlinded by the Lights\u201d [679\/Vice\/Warner; 2004]
395. Death From Above 1979: \u201cRomantic Rights\u201d [679\/Sound Virus\/Vice; 2004]
396. Nathan Fake: \u201cThe Sky Was Pink\u201d (James Holden Remix [Border Community; 2004]
397. Queens of the Stone Age: \u201cThe Lost Art of Keeping a Secret\u201d [Interscope; 2000]
398. The Chemical Brothers: \u201cStar Guitar\u201d [Astralwerks; 2002]
399. Amy Winehouse: \u201cTears Dry on Their Own\u201d [Universal; 2007]
400. Boris: \u201cIbitsu\u201d [Diwphalanx\/Southern Lord; 2003]
401. The Walkmen: \u201cIn the New Year\u201d [Gigantic; 2009]
402. My Morning Jacket: \u201cOff the Record\u201d [RCA; 2005]
403. Freeway [ft. Peedi Crakk]: \u201cFlipside\u201d [Roc-A-Fella; 2003]
404. Dinosaur Jr.: \u201cAlmost Ready\u201d [PIAS; 2007]
405. Superpitcher: \u201cTomorrow\u201d [Kompakt; 2001]
406. Nine Inch Nails: \u201cThe Hand That Feeds\u201d [Interscope; 2005]
407. Girls on Top: \u201cWe Don’t Give a Damn About Our Friends\u201d [Black Melody; 2000]
408. Magik Markers: \u201cTaste\u201d [Ecstatic Peace!; 2007]
409. Sunn O))): \u201cIt Took the Night to Believe\u201d [Southern Lord; 2005]
410. Women: \u201cBlack Rice\u201d [Jagjaguwar; 2008]
411. Wilco: \u201cHandshake Drugs\u201d [Nonesuch; 2003]
412. Scritti Politti: \u201cThe Boom Boom Bap\u201d [Rough Trade; 2006]
413. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: \u201cThere She Goes, My Beautiful World\u201d [Mute; 2004]
414. Simian Mobile Disco: \u201cIt’s the Beat\u201d [12\u201d version] [Wichita; 2007]
415. Alicia Keys: \u201cYou Don’t Know My Name\u201d (Reggae Remix) [J; 2003]
416. Jens Lekman: \u201cThe Opposite of Hallelujah\u201d [Service\/Secretly Canadian; 2005]
417. High Places: \u201cFrom Stardust to Sentience\u201d [Thrill Jockey; 2008]
418. Ce’cile: \u201cHot Like We\u201d[Kingstone; 2008]
419. Klaxons: \u201cGolden Skans\u201d [Because\/Rinse\/Geffen; 2006]
420. Schneider TM: \u201cThe Light 3000\u201d [City Slang; 2000]
421. Lambchop: \u201cUp With People\u201d [City Slang; 2000]
422. Santogold: \u201cLights Out\u201d [Downtown; 2008]
423. The Delgados: \u201cAll You Need Is Hate\u201d [Mantra; 2003]
424. Turbulence: \u201cNotorious\u201d [XL; 2006]
425. Bj\u00f6rk: \u201cNew World\u201d [One Little Indian; 2000]
426. Bob Dylan: \u201cMississippi\u201d [Columbia\/Sony; 2001]
427. Patrick Wolf: \u201cThe Magic Position\u201d [Loog\/A&M; 2007]
428. Yo La Tengo: \u201cLast Days of Disco\u201d [Matador; 2000]
429. Gossip: \u201cStanding in the Way of Control\u201d [Kill Rock Stars; 2005]
430. Mastodon: \u201cSleeping Giant\u201d [Reprise; 2006]
431. Death Cab for Cutie: \u201cThe New Year\u201d [Barsuk; 2003]
432. Sugababes: \u201cOverload\u201d [London\/Warner; 2000]
433. DJ Khaled: \u201cWe Takin’ Over\u201d [ft. T.I., Akon, Rick Ross, Fat Joe, Birdman, and Lil Wayne] [Koch; 2007]
434. Madonna: \u201cDon’t Tell Me\u201d [Maverick\/Warner Bros.; 2000]
435. Golden Boy with Miss Kittin: \u201cRippin Kittin\u201d [Illustrious; 2002]
436. Devendra Banhart: \u201cA Sight to Behold\u201d [XL; 2004]
437. Shackleton: \u201cBlood on My Hands\u201d [Skull Disco; 2006]
438. Lady Sovereign: \u201cCh-Ching (Cheque 1, 2 Remix)\u201d [Chocolate Industries; 2005]
439. Beirut: \u201cElephant Gun\u201d [4AD; 2007]
440. The Libertines: \u201cTime for Heroes\u201d [Rough Trade; 2002]
441. Sufjan Stevens: \u201cFor the Widows in Paradise, For the Fathers in Ypsilanti\u201d [Asthmatic Kitty; 2003]
442. Menomena: \u201cWet and Rusting\u201d [FILMguerrero\/Barsuk; 2006]
443. Explosions in the Sky: \u201cFirst Breath After Coma\u201d [Temporary Residence; 2003]
444. Be Your Own Pet: \u201cAdventure\u201d [XL; 2006]
445. Ricardo Villalobos: \u201cQue Belle Epoque\u201d [Frisbee Tracks; 2000]
446. M. Ward: \u201cChinese Translation\u201d [Merge; 2006]
447. Mylo: \u201cIn My Arms\u201d [Breastfed\/RCA\/V2; 2005]
448. Lil\u2019 Kim [ft. Mr. Cheeks]: \u201cThe Jump Off\u201d [Atlantic; 2003]
449. Jackson and His Computer Band: \u201cUtopia\u201d [Warp; 2005]
450. My Morning Jacket: \u201cGolden\u201d [RCA; 2004]
451. Scissor Sisters: \u201cMary\u201d [Polydor; 2004]
452. Jay Reatard: \u201cAlways Wanting More\u201d [Matador; 2008]
453. Fucked Up: \u201cCrusades\u201d [Jade Tree; 2006]
454. Songs: Ohia: \u201cDidn’t It Rain\u201d [Secretly Canadian; 2002]
455. Bonnie “Prince” Billy: \u201cWolf Among Wolves\u201d [Drag City; 2003]
456. Doves: \u201cBlack and White Town\u201d [Heavenly\/EMI; 2004]
457. Emily Haines & the Soft Skeleton: \u201cDoctor Blind\u201d [Gr\u00f6nland\/Last Gang; 2006]
458. Sleater-Kinney: \u201cFar Away\u201d [Kill Rock Stars; 2002]
459. The Honeydrips: \u201cFall From a Height (The Field Way)\u201d [Sincerely Yours; 2007]
461. Scarface: \u201cOn My Block\u201d [Def Jam; 2002]
462. Sun Kil Moon: \u201cCarry Me Ohio\u201d [Jetset; 2003]
463. Black Kids: \u201cI’m Not Gonna Teach Your Boyfriend How to Dance With You\u201d [self-released; 2008]
464. Voxtrot: The Start of Something\u201d [Cult Hero; 2005]
465. Cee-Lo: \u201cI’ll Be Around\u201d [ft. Timbaland] [Def Jamaica\/Arista; 2003]
466. Saint Etienne: \u201cHow We Used to Live\u201d [Mantra; 2000]
467. Rjd2: \u201cLet the Good Times Roll Pt. 2\u201d [Definitive Jux; 2002]
468. The Strokes: \u201cWhat Ever Happened?\u201d [RCA; 2003]
469. DJ Shadow: \u201cYou Can’t Go Home Again\u201d [Island\/MCA; 2002]
470. Orchestra Baobab: \u201cBul Ma Miin\u201d [Nonesuch; 2002]
471. Crystal Castles: \u201cAlice Practice\u201d [Merok\/Last Gang; 2006]
472. Comets on Fire: \u201cWild Whiskey\u201d [Sub Pop; 2004]
473. The Concretes: \u201cYou Can’t Hurry Love\u201d [Licking Fingers\/EMI; 2004]
474. Wolf Eyes: \u201cHuman Animal\u201d [Sub Pop; 2006]
475. Kid Cudi vs. Crookers: \u201cDay ‘N Night (Remix)\u201d [ARS; 2009]
476. Ward 21: \u201cPetrol\u201d [Greensleeves; 2003]
477. Dodos: \u201cFools\u201d [Frenchkiss; 2008]
478. Pantha Du Prince: \u201cAsha\u201d [Dial; 2007]
479. Brightblack Morning Light: \u201cEverybody Daylight\u201d [Matador; 2006]
480. Darkstar: \u201cNeed You\u201d [Hyperdub; 2008]
481. The Roots: \u201cDon’t Feel Right\u201d [Def Jam; 2006]
482. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: \u201cAs I Sat Sadly By Her Side\u201d [Mute; 2001]
483. Platinum 45 [ft. More Fire Crew]: \u201cOi!\u201d [Go! Beat\/FTL; 2002]
484. M\u00fam: \u201cGreen Grass of Tunnel\u201d [FatCat; 2002]
485. Ali Farke Tour\u00e9: \u201cYer Bounda Fara\u201d [Nonesuch; 2006]
486. Spiller [ft. Sophie Ellis-Bextor]: \u201cGroovejet (If This Ain’t Love)\u201d [Positiva; 2000]
487. Jaylib: The Red\u201d [Stones Throw; 2003]
488. Jesu: \u201cSilver\u201d [Hydra Head; 2006]
489. Kano: \u201cReload It\u201d [679; 2005]
490. Closer Musik: \u201cDepartures\u201d [Kompakt; 2002]
491. Viktor Vaughn: \u201cSaliva\u201d [HipHopSite.com; 2003]
492. St. Vincent: \u201cThe Strangers\u201d [4AD; 2009]
493. Goldfrapp \u201cLovely Head\u201d [Mute; 2000]
494. Blonde Redhead \u201cEquus\u201d [4AD; 2004]
495. Weezer: \u201cIsland in the Sun\u201d [Universal\/Geffen; 2001]
496. Akufen: \u201cDeck the House (Herbert’s Stop Like This Mix)\u201d [Force Inc.; 2002]
497. Woods: \u201cRain On\u201d [Shrimper\/Woodsist; 2009]
498. Unwound: \u201cScarlette\u201d [Kill Rock Stars; 2001]
499. N.E.R.D.: \u201cRun to the Sun\u201d (Electronic version) [Virgin; 2002]
500. The Big Pink: \u201cVelvet\u201d [4AD; 2009]<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n

Source URL: https:\/\/pitchfork.com\/features\/lists-and-guides\/7693-the-top-500-tracks-of-the-2000s-20-1\/<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lists & Guides The 200 Best Songs of the 2000s The best tracks of the decade that changed everything for radio, the underground, and your iPod By Pitchfork August 21, 2009 Remember when everyone was partying like it was 1999 because it was, in fact, 1999? That was 10 years ago. Yes, the first decade […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1743570,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[],"tags":[226,54],"class_list":["post-1743556","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","tag-crawlmanager","tag-pitchfork-com"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1743556","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1743556"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1743556\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/1743570"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1743556"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1743556"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/analyse.optim.biz\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1743556"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}