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100. Johnny Boy
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In the 21st century, can anyone seriously believe pop music changes lives? That the simple act of recording music can make a difference? For a moment, Liverpudlian indie-pop duo Johnny Boy suggested it could. For three-and-a-bit minutes, they captured the transcendent spirit wherein a simple song can prepare you to take on every comer, raise you above streets, save the planet. It didn’t change the world, but it still makes you think it might. Manic Street Preacher James Dean Bradfield’s pop-art production comes on like Phil Spector orchestrating a fighter jet and almost answers the questions his lost bandmate asked a decade before. It makes the notion that songs can save your life seem something less than ridiculous.
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99. The Futureheads
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Kate Bush's original stands alone, but the Futureheads did her proud with a version of "Hounds of Love" that substitutes coursing enthusiasm and near-panic for the stately pound and thrum of the source material. While Kate sounds like someone coming to terms with her neuroses with imperial grace, Barry Hyde gives a performance that starts off casually over the rest of the band's call-and-response yelps before surging into a desperate plea for salvation from the same hesitation that plagued the original. By the full-tilt finale, the wiry Sunderlanders sound more like they're among the hounds than being chased by them.
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98. Justin Timberlake
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Justin Timberlake’s solo career begins with a flourish—an acoustic guitar flourish. That’s what “Like I Love You” is, really: a series of flourishes as discrete moments, custom-designed to show the thatch-haired *NSyncer’s artistic maturity. Truth be told, the boy band’s last couple of singles, also produced by The Neptunes, showed an uncommon sense for how a voice that’s not as supple as its singer thinks can push Fisher-Prince funk-pop without collapsing into a rubble of failed signifiers. But “Like I Love You” proved that a Timberlake track could soar, dip, and swagger as lithely as he does on stage. This confection even has a couple of nuts: a bit that gave Clipse their first top-40 exposure. Imagine the edited-out studio laughter when Justin interrupts them with the scatted, “I just love your…b-r-a-i-i-i-n-n!” “Coltish,” sez Bob Christgau. A “paint-thinner falsetto” counters Greil Marcus. The four-note keyboard line over the drum fadeout splits the difference.
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97. Jim Jones
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“Crunk Muzik” isn’t. It’s a bare-concrete, frozen-below-zero midnight brawl rather than a tear-the-club-up dance smash. It’s the Dipset movement’s ugliest moment, typified by street-thug menace rather than their usual regal fantasy: Cam’ron baits his detractors with a marvelous verse resting heavily on onomatopoeia (“woop-woop, wamp-wamp, beep-beep”) rather than absurdity; young upstart Juelz Santana (“Spectacular, yes!”) bum rushes with threats to make you “rock ‘n’ roll like Bon Jovi”; while Jim Jones, prior to his jump-shot into crossover territory, spits short, staccato syllables, impressing with blunt force rather than wit or wordplay. Few rap hits were this physical in the ‘00s, and “Crunk Muzik” leaves bruises.
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96. Luomo
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As an experiment from a producer known for straight-faced dub techno, “Tessio” is a revelation of seduction and pleasure. As epic as any of his earlier productions as Vladislav Delay, Sasu Ripatti plunged face-first into the tactile—swirls of static and dub are finally paired with full-bodied basslines, jazzy off-beat keyboard stabs, lost vocalists. It’s half-haze, half-anthem, and somehow “Tessio” can stay firmly in both camps. For Ripatti, a producer best known for his micro-meticulousness of clicks & cuts, “Tessio”’s biggest surprises are found in how far the sumptuous can expand—from each iteration of the teasing mantra “try to stay like” to the viscous drip of the background synthesizers. It’s often overwhelming but I never want it to stop.
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95. Missy Elliott
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I'll argue this hasn't aged superbly: five years ago, I think we would've all picked this as a decade-ending top ten. But damn, when this bomb detonated, it was serious. A crazy-quilt of Timbo cuts based around a sample from Run-DMC's "Peter Piper," this was the sound of Missy and Tim going back to the future to move forward. I don't think she's ever made a truly great album, but her import-only singles comp Respect M.E. proves that, especially through the first half of the '00s, she was unstoppable as a singles master. This is Exhibit A.
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94. Jay-Z
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The last single from Volume 3...The Life and Times of Sean Carter envisioned the scion's empire extending from New York to the Nile. Borrowed Near and Middle East undertones in Timbaland's music transform into sampled overtones, thanks to a looped bit from Egyptian composer Baligh Hamdi. While his last pop crossover, "Hard Knock Life" used a bit from Annie as arch self-parody, "Big Pimpin'" posits itself as a transglobal manifesto on the art of playin', and if it still sounds full of itself, at least Timbo and Hova understand how pimpin’ undergirds most cultures. Is that what UGK mean by rhyming “impresario” and “barrio”?
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93. Arcade Fire
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“Rebellion (Lies)" pointed towards the group’s Springsteen-esque plays of Neon Bible, obviously indebted to the pop climate of the early ‘80s but stubbornly rebuffing electronic augmentation in favor of traditional instrumentation. In that sense, “Rebellion” is essentially a deconstructed anthem; but part of the reason that it sounds like so much fun is that it’s also a democratic anthem. It’s like if a 1930s folk ensemble had been transported forward in time to 2004 and provided the sheet music to a B-52’s cut. Members like violinist Sarah Neufeld all get their analogue stab at what in Blondie’s hands might have turned into a keyboard line. You can hear an echo of a good cop/bad cop routine in the interplay between Win Butler and wife Regine’s vocals: Regine the cooing arbiter of melody, Win the political one, the rapid disseminator of syllables and verbs. And yet, Win’s the one setting up the scene with the repeated assertion “Every time you close your eyes,” and Regine provides the kiss-off payoff, “Lies, Lies.” An intertwined tangle (much like lies themselves), “Rebellion (Lies)” is more complex than you think and closer to the truth than its title suggests.
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92.Outkast
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Nine years on from Stankonia and it’s still “B.O.B” that garners all the critical praise, but its jungle/gospel/everything brainstorm seemed to render it a bit inscrutable in commercial terms. In the end OutKast’s true breakthrough would come via a more sedately paced single with a familiar, relatable narrative; we‘ve all had to smooth things over with Erykah Badu‘s mother at some point. The chorus, with its awkward politeness and melodramatic “oooh,” is funny and accessible enough that even Ludd-Rock cretins like the Vines were into it, but the verses contrasted that with a sense of regret-tinged pathos and emotional literacy that pushed it beyond the ordinary.
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91. The White Stripes
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Remember in Almost Famous, when the Patrick Fugit character tried to pronounce hot rock act Stillwater to have an “incendiary” guitar sound? God help that kid if he hears this song then; “Fell in Love with a Girl” is hotter than a furnace; a nuclear blast of a guitar riff with an anguished Jack White yelping about the fire in his loins. “Can’t keep away from the girl,” he howls, as her “red hair and a curl” send off explosions in his brain. Burning infatuation and a rock duo with a knack for a sharp melody can be a volatile combination; “Fell in Love with a Girl” was a two-minute punk bonfire.
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90. Ludacris
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Ludacris had just become famous. Ludacris had spent this money on guns, weed, diamonds, a PlayStation 2 in his car (a worthy successor to “Super Nintendo, Sega Genesis....” in my opinion), a whole harem of motherfuckers, and a chef wearing nothing but six-inch heels. But he doesn't like to brag. A horn-fueled blast from the days when it was truly exhilarating to hear someone wild out over their nouveau richeness. Pro-tip: this wouldn't happen because ain't nobody getting paid off their name becoming a trending topic.
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89. Bat for Lashes
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Like no other song in recent memory, "Daniel" got my senses working overtime. Bat for Lashes' paean to young love would've been ranked with classics from Fleetwood Mac and Kate Bush anyway for its hazy gypsy-woman allure, but what really sold the comparison was how damn evocative the thing was—not just with the "smell of cinders and rain" and "marble movie skies," but the breathtaking texture put into just one of the sighing backing vocals: "Daaaannn-iel...." Just thinking about it makes me tingle a little. How many other songs (possibly) devoted to Ralph Macchio this decade can you say that about?
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88. Aaliyah
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Let us remember urban radio in 2000: In the days before The Blueprint re-popularized the art of sampling, Timbaland was the most forward thinking producer who could consistently get their songs on the air. Timbaland also had something that his competition couldn’t compete with: Aaliyah, the perfect vessel for his manic mix of bass-heavy beats and synth-stabbing twerk. And “Try Again” was their greatest collaboration. Aaliyah rides the mix of metallic sound effects and oscillating frequencies, all while delivering a subtle cooing vocal, oozing seduction without outshining the rhythm. Few producer/artist combos ever had this much chemistry.
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87.Justin Timberlake
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The Neptunes hit a nice little groove in the early-to-mid-2000s with a series of pop productions that leaned heavily on shimmering disco guitar. Snoop Dogg's luxuriant "Beautiful" was one; Pharrell's own "Frontin'" was another. Probably the best, though, was the third single from Justin Timberlake's debut album Justified. A sleek throwback to the Off the Wall era, "Rock Your Body" stars Timberlake's charming falsetto and a strutting bass line that, at one point, neatly mimics "Another One Bites the Dust." While it may lack the psychosexual intrigue of his first two hits, it's also a much better bet as a dancefloor filler.
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86. Usher
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When people say, “If you haven’t heard X you must have been living under a rock,” it’s usually kinda bullshit, but not so much with this chrome-plated colossus that dry-humped the middle bit of this decade into submission, blaring out of every available outlet to the point of being unavoidable even by hermits and the dead. It’s far removed enough now to go back and appreciate again the relentlessness of Lil Jon’s apocalyptic synth mantra, his crazed interjections, and Usher’s unnerving priapism; it’s an absurdly momentous sounding piece of music, even before Ludacris turns up to start massively over-extending syllables, just because he can.
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85. Camera Obscura
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Hey, cheer up Tracyanne Campbell, why the long fa... oh sorry, I forgot. Camera Obscura's rise from twee benchwarmers to crown princes in waiting to Belle & Sebastian's throne of "favoured band of people who like to walk around secondhand bookstores before going on a picnic where they'll read the books they just bought" to legitimate album chart proposition has been based on one formula: killer lead singles that lead into an album of emotional despair. They even flagged up their willingness for heartbreak on the title of this, paying a little homage to ‘80s Mondeo popper and Bam Margera-lookalike Lloyd Cole in the process.
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84. Antony and the Johnsons |
Antony Hegarty's voice is hard to deal with in a communal setting: his frail, androgynous wail is unsettling, his vulnerability is total; it begs to be mocked. But in solitude, with attention, it's uniquely moving. Antony takes 30 seconds into his breakthrough album to convince doubters of its power—that chilling falsetto, rising into the chorus, sounds like he's bravely holding onto the tune while he weeps. The anxiety of "Hope There's Someone" is unresolvable for decades to come; but listening to it alone, it feels pressing.
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83.Javiera Mena
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Electric drums + synth beat + simple Casio notes. You’ve heard this combination a million times—but never like this. This product from Chilean electro-pop fireball Javiera Mena can best be described as a mix of Kelley Polar and the Knife, with Karen Carpenter on vocals. Don’t let that fool you; everything about this is pure force. With the tempo of a freight train and a melody that’ll suck the life out of you, “Al Siguiente Nivel” is sonic euphoria of the highest order. The song’s name translates as “To the Next Level”; it’s hard to think of a more fitting title.
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82. Yeah Yeah Yeahs
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You don't have to think it's the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' best song or their most affecting song or even their best song on this album. I like it a lot but that's not the point. The point is that "Maps" marks the moment when a band that looked like a fleeting, trashy gimmick—no bass cuz that's unnecessary; skinny mute guitarist cuz that's cool; chick singer taking beer baths cuz that's hot—proved they weren't. That thunderous shuffle; those drips of guitar pooling to lap against the chorus; that clear, calm, cooed mantra. "Wait—they don't love you like I love you." It's an incantation. This is an incantatory band. Not a fleeting one; not a gimmick. Trashy, sure, God bless 'em—you wouldn't believe what some people throw away.
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81. The Strokes
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The Strokes impressed us first with their scruffy cool, but “Someday,” still their best song, sounded more like a product of their boy-band good looks. Bright, ringing guitar chords and Julian Casblancas’ aching swoon of a vocal suited a sing-along the way the combo’s pretty faces suited posters on bedroom walls: surprisingly well. So, ”Someday,” like the rest of the New Rock, never lit up the charts as it was meant to, but even as critical favorites, the Strokes retained a bit of their indie- rock-Monkees appeal. In these hands, even “Alone we stand, together we fall apart” sounded dreamy.
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